 
# EYES

MiCH OLORUNFEMi

EYES

by

MiCH OLORUNFEMi

Published by Mich Olorunfemi at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Mich Olorunfemi

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the

copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for

commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage

your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also

discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

We have eyes, but yet are still blind. There remains a pair of eyes more vital than the physical. Mich

# CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

The Reflection Excerpt

Biography

## 1

DETECTIVE Ricky woke up with a start, shirt sodden with sweat as he took in long, heavy breaths. Was that a nightmare? Maybe, but he had no recollection he was even dreaming. His wife Vivian always knew when he was having a nightmare, and she was always ready to tell him it was alright. But not tonight.

Ricky looked at his wife's side of the bed, but she wasn't there. Probably went for some water. Ricky thought. 4:15am shone in big green digital writings on the clock that sat on the nightstand. It was still dark.

Ricky put on the lamp. The room lit up with a golden-yellow hue. That was when Ricky saw it.

"Blood? Is that blood?" Ricky whispered to himself, as though he was being monitored. He flung the blanket off the bed. There was more, more blood. "Oh God."

He flew out of the bed and fell to the floor, crawling as far away from the bed as possible on his rear, supported by his hands. He hit the wall next to the door then he tried to calm himself. I've seen blood on a countless number of occasions. He told himself.

But not my wife's blood. A conflicting voice said.

Ricky opened the bedroom door, he ran for the kitchen screaming his wife's name. "Vivian! Vivian!" He ran past his daughter's door. Through the hall, through the dark living room, and into the kitchen. It was bare. His heart pumped blood up his neck, more from fear than from the running. Then he realized he ran past his daughter's room.

"Nicky!" He ran back. Threw the door open. Her bed was empty, but her pillow and blanket were still in place. With the flip of a switch the room was illuminated. He angled for Nicky's bed, and took a hold of her pink fluffy blanket. Neither the color nor the flowery designs made this any better. He froze in his steps.

"What am I doing? I have to call the office." Don't want to contaminate the scene before they arrive. Was this right? His wife and daughter were missing, possibly even killed and he was still thinking like a detective. But thinking like a detective would let him know what was going on.

He headed back to his room. Taking his cell off the nightstand, he dialed the Armston Police emergency phone number. Stay calm, Ricky. Stay calm. His head swam. Stay calm. The more he tried to control himself, the worse his condition became. He began to fill a slight chill wrap around his body. His fingers failed to dial the station's number at the first try, they were shaking. He got it on his second try and pressed the cell hard on his ear, pulse racing.

An officer picked up on the first ring. "Armston Police emergency service. What's your emergency?"

"Eh...this is Detective Ricky— "

"Ricky, what's the situation?"

"I...I...I think my wife and daughter have been...kidnapped." Telling the officer on the other end of the phone that he suspected they were dead just didn't seem right. After all, there were no bodies to prove it. But there was a whole lot of blood in his bed. Too much, for just a little struggle to cause.

"Hold on, Ricky. A unit will be dispatched to your location ASAP."

Click!

The line went dead and Ricky's hand went limp. The cell clattered to the floor. Ricky left the room and sat on a couch in the living room. He was too disoriented to realize that the lights were still off. He chose not to stay in the room as a means of controlling his curious nature. He needed the scene as clean as possible by the time the police got there.

His hands trembled in his weltered brown hair. His breaths were now drawn in short bursts.

Who was responsible? All the criminal cases Ricky had taken had ended with the perpetrator behind bars. All forty, and counting. Unless this was someone with ties to one of the criminals. He had put nothing less than twenty killers behind bars within the first forty-eight hours of their killings.

Vivian...Nicky. He wasn't even sure if there was any blood in Nicky's bed. He couldn't be sure, not until the police arrived.

The four minutes, thirty-two seconds it took for the police to arrive—and Ricky timed it—was the longest wait Ricky had ever endured. But now he could hear sirens approaching. They were still at a distance, from the sound of it, but at least they were coming.

Oh no! Sirens. Surely the neighbors would be woken from sleep. Everybody will want to know what was going down at the friendly Platt residence. He walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain a little. The street lit up in red and blue. The sirens blared, cutting through the night. The light of a house at the end of the street came on. Then a second closer to his.

He spotted two Armston Police cruisers before he let the curtain fall.

The tires of the two cruisers squealed as they came to a halt at Ricky's house. Three uniformed officers emerged and approached the family sized house through the driveway. Ricky didn't wait for a knock on the door before he had it opened.

"Ricky! Hear you've got an emergency of some sort." Officer Chris Baines said, adjusting his belt. The other two officers stood on either side of Baines. Another officer stood casually by one of the cruisers, he wouldn't be coming in.

"This way." Ricky let the three officers in.

They all angled into the hall when Baines said, "What exactly happened?" He was studying the house.

"I..eh, I woke up after I had a nightmare, I think, and Vivian was gone. She just wasn't in bed. I thought she went for a drink of water or something, I turned on the lights," he opened the door to his room, "that's when I saw this."

Baines walked in, eyes fixated on the bed. The ruffled blanket lay on the floor. He walked behind the bed all the while keeping a fixed gaze on the pool of blood now soaking the white sheets. "Hmm. What time did you wake up?"

"Four fifteen," Ricky answered.

"And your daughter?"

"She's missing as well. Don't know if there's any blood on her sheets."

Baines stood. "Murphy, take some shots please." It sounded like a question.

Officer Dan Murphy fiddled with the camera, before it clicked and the room went white for half a second. A few more clicks from every possible angle was enough for Baines.

"Doesn't look like there was much of a struggle." Baines said.

"Doesn't look like there was any struggle." Ricky's voice was a little above a whisper. His heart was still pounding away.

"Let's see your daughter's room." Baines headed for the door, and so did everyone else.

Nicky's door creaked open, as Ricky walked into the room. The officers were directly behind. This was what Ricky had been waiting for. He would find out if Nicky was harmed as well.

Baines looked around the room. Everything was neatly packaged. A really large and brown teddy bear sat on a short bureau. The pink and blue striped wallpaper matched it in a unique manner. Nicky's flip-flops lay at the foot of the bed undisturbed. Everything seemed to be in place. A little too in place.

A tear broke loose from Ricky's eye. The bright colors, the blue teddy, the fluffy flip-flops. None of these items brought him joy—instead they did just the opposite.

Baines edged for Nicky's bed. Ricky watched.

"Murphy, do your stuff before I proceed."

Some five snaps shots from a good range of angles was all Baines needed. He went a bit low, placed his hand on the pink fluffy bed spread with caution, like it was rigged with a bomb or something, and dragged it off, letting it fall to the ground.

It was as Ricky suspected. Blood. And much of it. The stain on Nicky's bed made Ricky's body, quiver. "No...No. She was just a child...she..."

"Pull yourself together Ricky, we still don't know if they were killed. As long as we haven't seen any bodies yet there's no proof of death."

"Sir," Officer Ed Milner was pointing to the floor.

"What is it?" Baines turned to face Milner.

For a moment the quiver in Ricky's body totally ceased. He was in anticipation. He was ready for anything that might give him a clue to what the heck was going on.

Milner prodded. "You really have got to see this."

Baines walked up to Milner's side. There was a white piece of paper on the floor. Writings had been scribbled on it in red lettering. Baines pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and put them on before squatting and picking the paper from the bedroom floor. His face spaced out in horror.

"What's the matter?" Ricky asked, but Baines didn't give Ricky a reply. So Ricky inched bit by bit toward him, his eyes fixed on the white piece of paper, and only now did he notice the red markings. He could see it now, very clearly. He could read it.

It read simply and succinctly:

Enjoy the rest of the Journey.

Cutter

Ricky felt sweat begin to exude from all over his body. His head began to swim. Journey? What Journey? Should he be preparing for more of this? Evidently. That's what Cutter was saying. And who is this Cutter? All these questions barraged Ricky's mind at once like a meteor shower, but he had no answer to any one of them.

What Cutter didn't say was whether he had custody of his wife and his daughter. Did he want to keep him guessing? Did he want him trying to maintain some kind of hope, when the very thing he was hoping for wasn't in existence anymore? But one question cried out in a higher decibel than any of the others; what was going on?

Ricky's journey was truly just beginning and Officer Baines was just about to prove that. Unintentionally though.

Ricky watched Baines flip the card to the other side. He probably wanted to see if there was anymore detail that could prove vital to the whereabouts of Ricky's wife, and Ricky's daughter, maybe even this Cutter himself. He flipped the card back with such swift hand motion.

"Hold on, what was that?" Ricky tried to confirm. He thought he saw a picture.

"Eh...it's nothing. Milner, get this to the lab. Have it tested for finger prints." Baines held the card out to officer Milner.

"No! I wanna see that." Ricky was quick enough to get to the card before Milner could receive it from Officer Baines.

Baines cursed.

Ricky flipped it over to see exactly what it was that Baines didn't want him to see. His heart skipped a few beats. His hands began to tremble again. His lips dropped open, unconsciously. They quivered in their open state before he let the picture fall to the ground.

"Ricky..." Baines was trying to be comforting, but surely he knew there was no amount of words that would do any comforting now.

Ricky stared at the picture which was now on the floor. It was a picture of Vivian and Nicky. Dead. Lying down on what looked like a concrete surface on their left side. Both had their throats slashed. The word 'Cutter' was brutally etched on their right cheek. They might have been dead but they looked anything but at peace.

Ricky went week at the knees. His right leg began to fail him and he began to drop to the floor.

"Whoa!" Milner was on hand to catch him. He led him to a small chest Nicky used to store her toys and made him sit.

Ricky stared on, to a great beyond. To nothingness. He seemed not to see the others in the room anymore. The trembles in his hands had spread to his entire body now. He couldn't even try to contain it. It was useless.

Baines walked up to Ricky and gave his cheek a couple of gentle taps. Then placed his hands on his shoulder and rocked him gently. "Ricky! Ricky! We need you to be strong, okay? For them. For Vivian and Nicky. Can you do that?" Ricky raised his head and their eyes met. "Can you do that?" He repeated.

Ricky managed to nod his head. Slowly. But at least that showed him he still had control of himself.

"Gimme a minute." Baines said before walking away from Ricky to join his partners.

Ricky watched him join the other officers at a corner of Nicky's room. Nicky's room. Ricky would have never thought his six year old daughter's room would one day be a crime scene. He shuddered. This was too much. Much too much.

After a series of nods, belt adjustments, and off-shoulder glances at Ricky, Baines approached him again. Ricky knew what he was going to request. He was a detective, he had done this on scores of occasions.

"I know this is hard for you," Baines started. Ricky already knew where he was going. He continued, "but this is one case Chief Delay would want to look into."

They wanted him to be at the station. Chief Delay would definitely interview at the station.

"If you think you can handle —"

"I'll be there." A succinct response from a despondent Ricky. His wife and daughter—whom he loved more than life itself—had just been brutally murdered. He would do anything to make sure this Cutter guy was caught before he thought he had the advantage over him.

A killer with so much skill, who was able to sneak into the house of a detective, kill his daughter, and kill his wife whilst she lay next to him as he slept wasn't one to present a weak character to. He had to look strong. He had to be strong. For their sake.

## 2

Ricky sat alone in Chief Bob Delay's office, his right heel tapping away. He had changed his clothes but hadn't bothered making his hair presentable. That was too much detail for Ricky to entertain now. He took a glance at the clock that hung lazily just above the door. 7:38am. He looked away, right foot still tapping away. This was unnerving. He couldn't be waiting for the Chief of Police when his family were discovered dead just three hours or so ago.

The door knob rattled and Chief Delay walked in, he was as confident as ever. His gray eyes matched his graying hair which was always worn with a side parting, as was the case now. His square glasses sat lazily on his rather round nose.

Chief Delay wasn't known for showing any emotion. Even when his wife lost her battle to cancer, he remained stiff. He only talked less, and that was how the officers of the Armston Police knew his wife's death had gone through his heart like a stake.

Ricky didn't expect Chief Delay to walk up to him, give him a pat on the back and say, "Everything will be alright, son. You'll be fine." And he didn't. But the fact that the Chief showed up in his office a full hour before he usually does said something to Ricky. Chief Delay respected him.

Chief Delay sat on his black leather swivel chair. He held a gaze with Ricky then sniffed. His thick mustache responded. "Heard what happened, Ricky. Might I say that the entire force sympathizes with you." He placed his hands on his mahogany desk and clasped his fingers.

Ricky managed to say, "Thanks."

"I'll try to make this a quick one, okay? I'm assuming it's enough work being here only a few hours after..." he paused, choosing his words. "...after what happened."

Ricky nodded.

Ricky was a detective that had served with the Armston Police for almost a decade now. Not only that, he also studied Criminal Psychology in college, where he used his new found knowledge to jail a student for drug pushing. This meant Ricky knew all the trades in the game. This meant he knew the questions Chief Delay might ask. This would mean that Ricky already knew the answers to those possible questions. And this would mean they would be done with this interview session in no time. Surely Chief Delay knew this.

The Chief started with the most obvious question. "Ricky, do you know anyone, and I mean anyone who might have the audacity to do this to you?" His hands were still clasped in front of him on his desk.

Ricky provided the expected answer. "No, no one."

"Hmm." Chief Delay nodded. It was expected. "Was there any missing items, valuables, anything of such?"

"No. Everything was in place. Nothing was missing. He even took time to make sure everything was in place."

Chief Delay perused a paper in a file that lay—now open—on his desk before flipping the page and taking hold of the picture Cutter had sent. Ricky looked away. Chief Delay sniffed. "I can see that."

Ricky wished that all this could go away. He wanted his family back. He wished Cutter would just show up now with his family, safe and sound, but most of all, alive. But that wasn't going to happen. And here was that picture to prove it.

A slow fifteen minutes rolled by. And after some more questions from the Chief, and a series of answers from Ricky—obviously "no's"—they were finally done.

The agony of sitting on a spot doing nothing about his family's death gnawed at Ricky from all angles. But he was doing the right thing. It was procedure. A procedure Ricky wasn't warming up to though. Not at this time.

Ricky operated on a strange level. He found all these preambles the police took before apprehending criminals rather inane. And he knew Chief Delay knew he thought so. A visit to the cathedral solved all crimes placed before Ricky. That was what he ought to be doing. Not sitting in front of Chief Delay, a mere man who could do nothing to bring his family back. Vivian, my one and only. I will find him. I will make sure this Cutter rots in a solitary cell for the rest of his mortal life, and burns in hell for the rest of his life after. Nicky, my baby. My baby.

Images of Nicky struggling to take her first steps filled his mind. It was amazing. He and Vivian had never seen or heard of such. The very same instance the round-cheeked little girl took her first steps was the very same instance she said her first word. "Mommy." Mommy. Vivian. He remembered clearly. How he held the camcorder but wasn't able to hold his mouth closed.

"...cky! Ricky!"

Chief Delay was trying to get his attention.

"Sorry." Ricky was back to earth, precisely, Chief Delay's office.

"You obviously need rest."

"Yeah, I obviously do." Ricky said, wagging his head and rising to his feet, supporting himself with the table.

Chief Delay rose as well. "This Cutter. He might not have taken any souvenirs, but he left a signature."

"Yeah, on Vivian and Nicky's cheeks." Ricky spoke in a monotone, facing the door.

"I'm sorry, Ricky."

"There's something I have to do."

"Just make sure you get some rest, son."

A nod was all Ricky could return as he walked out of the Chief's office. He respected the man. The Chief of the Armston Police force. For a natural man his accomplishments where almost unrivaled. He was a fine man. Ricky wasn't sure anyone was more capable of heading the police force, not even him.

Ricky stepped into the hall and was greeted with the staring eyes of about a dozen officers dressed in their navy blue uniforms. Eyes of pity. Eyes of sympathy. Eyes of condolences and empathy. But they didn't speak a word. They didn't have to. They just looked. Their eyes said it all. Ricky immediately wondered if one of these officers staring at him was actually Cutter. He was quick to thrust aside the thought. Oh! Don't be paranoid, Ricky. What was he thinking? These were the exceptional men and women of Armston. Sworn to protect the innocent.

Just then Darren Savage, Chief Delay's deputy, walked up to Ricky and placed his hand on Ricky's arm. "We'll get to the bottom of this." He nodded, to show his seriousness.

"Thanks, Darren." Ricky returned a nod then proceeded out of the police department. He stood on the stairs. His head panned from left to right, training everyday people who were going about their everyday business. Phil was on time to sell his hot dogs just outside the police building as usual. At the road ahead, a lady in a black suit and short skirt entered a cab she had just hailed. Men and women dressed in shades of gray and black sauntered in opposite directions, all heading for work.

Somewhere among the morning activities Cutter must be watching him. He thought so. He knew so. But instead of fear, Ricky felt a new sense of determination. If Cutter made the mistake of allowing him get to the cathedral in one piece he would walk out knowing everything he needed to know about him.

He took one last glance around the street before he angled for his Toyota Corolla. Revved the engine and was off for the Cathedral.

This was where he was supposed to be heading for right from the time this whole nightmare had begun. But now he would bring this bad dream to an end.

~

A visit to St. Sebastian cathedral on a Monday morning. It was quiet. Ricky walked down the dim hall accompanied only by his shadow and the sound of his leather soled shoes landing hard on the floor.

The double doors leading to the gargantuan cathedral main hall swung open slowly and Ricky stepped in. So far it didn't look like Father David was around. He walked down the aisle, momentarily hit by the morning sun that penetrated the stained-glass windows. The pews were ever so meticulously arranged, but empty. He was the only living soul in here. He was the only living soul in his family. He maintained a steady gaze at the altar, knowing exactly what he wanted.

The sound of the soles of his shoes had now been muffled by the red carpet that gave the priests a royal entry into the hall.

The glass podium stood elegantly, behind was the rising set of chairs usually occupied by the parish's choir. Ricky stood in front of the podium. He fell to his knees.

"God, I know you're out there...help me. Who is Cutter?" He spread his arms wide and hung his head back. He froze. That was normal. He always froze before seeing a criminal in a vision. Then his sight went black. Black? A color he had never seen during transition. White maybe. But black?

Ricky could feel himself floating in a pitch black environment now. He couldn't see his limbs. He couldn't see his legs. He couldn't see anything. But he could tell he was moving in a swirly motion. He was beginning to get dizzy. What was going on? This had never happened before. He felt like he was being sucked in by a vacuum. The air beneath pulled and sucked with a tremendous force. He couldn't resist being sucked in. From the feel of it, there was nothing in this black wormhole that he might be able to use to break his fall.

He wanted to scream, but nothing other than hot air exuded from his mouth. He tried yelling again. No sound. Not even a squeak. He was mute. He could feel his heart throbbing quicker by the second against his chest. He was alone. Falling. Deeper. And deeper.

Then he stopped. So abruptly he felt like his innards might fall out his body. The stop was instant, like the pause command to a DVD player.

He began to hear sounds in the background. People chattering, he could decipher that. But what were the other sounds. Office equipment? Traffic? Appliances? Or maybe all of them at once.

This he had never experienced.

The environment had lightened to a gray hue and was getting brighter.

He was coming to.

## 3

Ricky's eyes popped open. He immediately began analyzing what he could see. That was what he was trained to do as a detective. His eyes were his most important weapons.

But no sense could be gathered from what he saw now. This was his office, he knew that. The interior of the Armston Police Service building. He could see Officer Chris Baines at a corner, phone receiver pressed hard against his right ear. A plane clothed officer slouched on his desk, backing him. From the rhythm of his breathing he was obviously asleep. His disheveled hair told Ricky the man had definitely been overworking. The view was strange though. He looked at the office from a semi-aerial view, like the thumbnail view of a strategy computer game. What's going on? He asked himself, looking down to the floor.

He was taken aback. He had no feet! No legs. No arms. And no torso. He wanted to scream out, 'My God!' But he discovered he had no mouth too. The phrase remained in his head. Not that he had a head. But at least he could think. His brain—wherever it was—was still active.

He looked up again and began examining the office. The deputy of police, Darren Savage, broke out of his office and sprinted past him to Chief Delay's door. He slowed and knocked.

Chief Delay's muffled voice came from inside his office. "Enter." Savage was inside in a flash.

Ricky's eyes turned to face the rest of the office again. The sleeping officer caught his attention again. What is it about this guy? He had started with his questions. Wait a minute. Disheveled brown hair, and that shirt. That was his shirt. Is...is this me? He asked himself. He wanted to know. He wanted to move in for a closer view. And he did. His eyes moved closer to the sleeping officer like a camera attached to a crane. His eyes rounded the man to a position where he could now see his face as he slept. Holy mother of God! It was him! Ricky stared at the sight of him in incredulity. He couldn't feel his heart pumping at an abnormal rate; he didn't have a heart anymore. He just stared.

~

DETECTIVE Ricky Platt slouched on his desk. He was breathing harmoniously. Sleep. He needed it. He had gone over two days without sleep, and now he was getting the sleep he deserved. The location was less of a bother to him.

Ricky was the only reason Isaias Shafer—a demented youth, with anti-government opinions who had held the entire state of Arizona in a deep jar of fear—was apprehended. He planned on blowing up dozens of government establishments in Arizona alone. Thanks to Ricky, none of the threats Isaias had passed across over various media formats where ever realized. He had saved thousands of people within twenty-four hours of Isaias's media barrage.

Chief Delay and his deputy, Darren Savage, walked out of the chief's office and paused at the sight of Ricky. Chief Delay gave Darren a pat on his back and Darren moved with a gentle nod for the conference room. Chief Delay edged toward Ricky's desk.

"Ricky!" Chief Delay called.

Ricky's eyes blinked to life. He shook his head. Chief Delay stood before him wearing a smile, just like a father would smile at a son. He looked at a clock, it was almost four o'clock. "Sir." His voice came out soar. He cleared his throat.

"Go get some rest, son. You need it."

Ricky tried to fight back a yawn, but he lost the battle. "Thanks, Sir."

Chief Delay nodded and started toward the conference room.

The garage door of the two bedroom family house rose slowly at the touch of a button and he drove in, allowing the door to slide close behind the car. It was empty save some metallic shelves which Ricky's tools were on. He stepped out of the car, looking around. But he wasn't just looking around. He was looking for Vivian's blue Toyota Sienna. Vivian had gone to the mall with Nicky earlier in the day, at least that was their plan. But she always made sure to be home at this time of day. Unless she got held at the mall by one of her friends or something. But could she be held by her friends since noon? He shook the thought off his head and walked into the house.

He fell on his bed and his eyes closed in seconds.

~

RICKY'S chest rose and fell in a timely manner. He knew this because he was watching himself. His eyes had followed himself through the journey from the police building to his house. He now watched himself sleep.

Strange did not even begin to describe what this was. He had never heard of such a thing. Was this how the prophets had seen the future? Was this his future? No. Vivian and Nicky were dead. They were never late at arriving from the mall. They were killed right under their roof, right under his nose and he didn't even smell it. Rage boiled within him, but he couldn't react. His bodily members had been taken from him.

Was he dreaming? Had he fallen asleep at the cathedral? No. If he were dreaming he probably wouldn't know his family was killed. He wouldn't know he was in the cathedral right now. That was if he was in the cathedral right now.

He wanted this to end. He wanted to get his limbs back. He wanted to be able to crack his knuckles. Yet he wanted to know what was really going on here in this—this alternate world. He needed to understand.

If curiosity killed the cat, Ricky had invalidated that the cat had nine lives. His curiosity must have killed him a thousand-and-one times. And he still lived. At least he wanted to think that he did.

His eyes spotted a mirror and a thought crawled into his mind. He wanted to see exactly what he looked like here. He moved to the mirror. But he wasn't there. The mirror had no reflection of his body. Even his eyes which he thought he still had weren't there, floating in the air, but he could see. A white wooden door stayed ajar directly behind—the bathroom. He couldn't see his reflection in the mirror. He was like Dracula, without a soul. What he would give to have his soul back. Not just his soul, his body as well.

He stared at himself rolling on the white sheeted bed. Then it dawned on him that Vivian and little Nicky weren't back yet. Not that it mattered, they had actually been killed. But something in him wanted them to get back home. If he couldn't see them in the real world, at least he would see them here. Wherever here was.

He watched himself groan on the bed and raise his right hand to his forehead. He was waking up.

~

RICKY wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, yawning. He stared at the clock that lay on the nightstand. 07:15pm.

Seven-Fifteen? Ricky jerked up from bed. He had had less than three hours of sleep. This was still no compensation for the lack of sleep he had endured for the past days. He still felt woozy.

There was still no sign of Vivian yet. No paper bags from the mall littering their bedroom, and her hand bag wasn't on the dresser where she habitually placed it after a long day. Nothing. He slid out off bed and went to the bathroom. The door was ajar.

"Viv?" He pushed the door open and flipped the switch, the bathroom was vacant.

He squeezed his fist hard and fast enough to crack his knuckles before heading for Nicky's room which he found to be vacant as well. The living room and kitchen were also vacant. He walked into the garage. His Toyota Corolla lay alone in the garage. He walked up to the garage door and hit the switch.

The door shrieked as it rose slowly. The front of the house was bare. Vivian's Sienna still wasn't here. Now he knew something was wrong. The time was well after seven.

He would go to the Armston Mall to see what was up.

Armston Mall was hardly a mall. It was more like an overgrown supermarket...a hypermarket, if you will. But it served the people of Armston with everything that they needed. The mall had been the same for years. The same staff, same uniform, same aisles.

The mall was always busy during the day, but at this time, only pockets of a few people could be seen here and there.

Ricky eased the Corolla into park in the parking lot scattered with not up to a dozen vehicles. The front wheel whistled. He could see a few people through the windows still tidying up transactions at the stands, none of which was Vivian and his little Nicky. He began to look around the parking lot. Then he spotted the blue Toyota Sienna.

At once he started for the van. It wasn't locked. Fact was, the car keys were left on the door. Not a good sign. But a quick look inside confirmed Ricky's inkling. It was empty. Empty, as in both Vivian and Nicky weren't in it. But there were five paper bags in it. So they had been here. Ricky was careful not to touch the car. He walked around it, scrupulously studying everything in it. Nothing but the Armston Mall labeled bags were in the van.

Maybe they were still inside the Mall. They probably forgot something and went back to get it. He headed for the entrance. A quick look at his wrist watch told him fifteen to eight. Now darkness began encroaching and covering up the once bright sky.

Ricky must have walked down every possible aisle. Gone through every door—except the ones that were locked. Talked to every customer he came across. Nothing. His stopping point would be the cashiers. One of them had to know something. Since the keys to the Sienna were at the door and everything they had bought had been dumped in the car, they definitely paid the cashier a visit.

Ricky went through two of the four pay points. The attendants knew nothing. They couldn't identify the woman and the cute little girl in the picture he had pulled out of his wallet.

He got to the third attendant and showed her his wallet. Thankfully she wasn't attending to anyone.

"Excuse me, miss. Have you by any chance seen my wife and my daughter?"

The lady, Margaret—that was what her tag read—lifted her head and adjusted her rather huge glasses. "Oh yeah, I seen 'em. They were here this afternoon." She was chewing gum.

"Afternoon?" He folded his wallet up and placed it in the back pocket of his blue denim.

"Yes. She did forget her phone at our chargin' point". Margaret indicated the stand were people left their cell phones to charge whilst they shopped. "She returned to pick it up and headed right back out."

So they had left the mall since afternoon. But the car was still in the parking lot with its keys in the door. They weren't here anymore, but they hadn't left with the car nor the items they had bought.

Ricky reached down his right pocket and pulled out his cell. He dialed Vivian's number swiftly with his thumb, and pressing the cell to his right ear, he walked out the door.

It rang through, but in time it returned with a "No Answer" on the screen. The next dozen tries were the same.

Ricky feared the worst. They had been kidnapped. He didn't want to believe it, but it was true wasn't it?

He would need to see Father David in the cathedral.

~

THE time was now well after eight. Ricky had followed himself to the mall. He had seen everything. The abandoned Sienna. The keys in the door to the driver's seat. He had seen himself ask a score of shopper's if they had seen his wife and his daughter. He was also present when he was asking the attendant questions. Now he was watching himself drive to St. Sebastian Cathedral to meet his mentor and friend, Father David.

Why was he going through this? He had the knowledge that his wife and daughter had been brutally killed by a mad man. And in this dream, they had to be kidnapped. If he could choose which world he wanted to stay in, it would be this one. His dream. Or was it a vision? Which ever it was, he wanted to be here. Here his family had been kidnapped. There was still the chance that he might find them. But in the other world they were gone. Gone for good.

He looked at his weary self as he drove down Regent street which was lightly populated with sparse traffic. His phone chirped and he reached down his right pocket with his right hand, holding the wheel with his left. It was an unknown number.

Before he could see himself hit the accept button, everything paused.

Ricky looked around. He was frozen in the driver's seat. The Corolla had stopped in mid motion. Even the scanty traffic was perfectly still. Pedestrians on the walk had frozen. Birds paused in mid-flight. There was not a single sound.

Time went still. Totally still.

No! No! He was waking up. Everything darkened into a gray hue.

Ricky found himself wanting to stay. He didn't want to return to the horrible reality where his family had been killed. He wanted to stay here, where there was hope. Hope that he would find Vivian and never let her go. Hope that he would find Nicky plant a kiss on her forehead and never let her out of his sight.

Everything went black.

He could feel his neck twitch.

## 4

THEY had been driving for a while now. Vivian was sure it was six hours plus. It was obvious though, she had lost track of time. Neither she nor her daughter, Nicky, had any sense of what was going on. They hadn't seen their captor's face. They hadn't even seen the color of the van before they began feeling woozy and passed out.

The tires of the vehicle hummed below them. That was all Vivian could hear, apart from their occasional whimpers.

Neither could speak. Their mouths were taped with silver electrical tape. Vivian guessed they were in a van judging from the size of the vehicle even though she couldn't see. Bags had been placed over their heads. It itched.

Nicky whimpered. Vivian could hear her whimper through her taped lips. She wanted to reach out and touch her baby and tell her everything would be fine. But she had been tied to a chair that was fastened to the floor of the vehicle. Her hands were bound behind the chair. Even if she were free she knew that everything wasn't alright, and it probably was only going to get worse.

Their captor hadn't said a word since he had abducted them at the Armston Mall. He was fast. Too fast. He had done it with no struggle at all, and with no vehemence too.

If I hadn't forgotten my cell at— even if I did forgot my cell, I didn't have to leave Nicky in the car to go get it. Nicky, I'm sorry. I'm a terrible Mommy. I'm so so sorry. Vivian sobbed. She noticed that Nicky had stopped whimpering. She knew then that Nicky knew her mommy was crying, something she had never known her mother to do.

Vivian was almost thankful for the veil their captor had placed on their heads. It hid the doleful sight of a mother crying helplessly away from her daughter. She immediately rebuked herself for thinking like that. She shouldn't be the slightest bit thankful for what her daughter was going through, after all, she had brought this on her because of her terrible parenting. I'm really a terrible Mommy. She sobbed harder now. Nicky joined. They cried together. Mother and daughter. Unable to console themselves. Vivian felt sick.

The journey was interrupted only once. Their captor—whom they still knew nothing about—had taken them out one after the other to relieve themselves, still with the bags on their heads. Once he brought them back into the van, he fed them with broccoli. He lifted the bags high enough to reveal only their mouths, removed the tape off their mouths and stuffed them with the green vegetable without a word. He did it so fast. Vivian didn't have the chance to ask who he was or where he was taking them. And before she knew it they were off again, struggling to keep themselves from gagging as they ate a mouthful of broccoli behind taped lips.

Inhumane! That's what it was. Did he do this to Nicky too? The crunchy sound Vivian heard toward her left confirmed it. Nicky was chewing broccoli too.

Vivian chewed fast. She could feel spittle try to escape her mouth, but the tape held it back. And now she could feel it hanging in corners between the tape and her lips. Tears slithered down her cheeks. She tried her best to finish the dreadful meal. And she did, hoping Nicky wouldn't choke on hers.

Vivian wished she could rewind time to before she was awoken by the sobs of her six year old daughter in the moving van. She wished she could start the day all over.

But Ricky was still out there. And as long as Ricky was still out there, there was hope. She knew he was able to get all the details on a criminal simply by paying the cathedral a visit. This was why no criminal had ever eluded her husband for more than a couple of days. I need you, Sweetheart. Now, more than ever. She thought she had found the little confidence she needed to get through this—that her husband was probably only minutes away from rescuing his queen and his princess. Don't worry, Nicky. Daddy will save us.

But her confidence was soon extinguished when she felt the van take a sharp turn off the smooth road unto a rough one. The movement of the car was now rocky and she could hear the sound of gravels popping underneath them like popcorn. Where was he taking them? She could hear Nicky crying again. Oh, God where are you? How could you let this happen to us? To Nicky. She's only a child.

A little while after, the car stopped and everywhere fell silent. Dead silent. The door on the driver's side opened and closed with a muffled thump. Vivian could hear their captor's sluggish footsteps on the gravel outside the van. He was coming for them.

~

THE lady and the little girl had cried for hours. Cutter could hear them from the driver's seat, and now he was tired. But they were at their destination already. Welcome to your new home...At least till I cut you up.

Cutter reached for the rag and bottle of chloroform that lay next to him on the passenger's seat before he stepped out of the huge dark blue van. He walked beside the van and slid the door that ran along its side till it reached its limit. The sliding door growled, and the woman and child winced at the sound as if it brought them pain. He stared at the mother and daughter. Hopeless. Near useless, but not quite. See, he didn't take them to get some miserable ransom. Neither had he kidnapped them to kill them—though in time he would do just that. No, he had other reasons for doing what he was doing.

He approached the mother first, knowing full well that if he stunned the little girl first he might get a little more resistance from the mother than was necessary. But he won't have much trouble suppressing the girl's protests. He knocked the mother out. Then the daughter.

In a back and forth journey, he took the woman, then the little girl into his house, a decrepit structure in the middle of nowhere. But Cutter liked it that way. He didn't need any neighbors coming to borrow sugar at five in the morning. No. He was content being on his own. There was no better way to live than to be on your own.

But he wasn't on his own anymore, was he? He had guests now; the woman and the little girl. They were his guests now. Okay, maybe he couldn't do with any neighbors, but guests were okay. Especially those that would contribute immensely to his cause.

Please, make yourselves at home. No. These weren't the types of guests that could "make themselves at home." These were the type you keep under lock and key. And he would do just that.

Cutter's home was always dark. And now, in the night, it was darker than ever. Cutter loved it that way. He knew his house well enough to get around it with a minuscule amount of light. It wasn't like there was any furniture to maneuver in the dark. The only furniture in this room (the parlor) was a wooden table he had constructed himself which was lying against the wall just by the door. His most prized piece of furniture was a metallic cross he had also constructed on his own. It was big enough to crucify a man. This was Golgotha.

Cutter loved the dark for one thing; it will keep the pitiful look on his guest's faces hidden. It will keep their deplorable and wretched look in the shadows.

He had placed the mother and child on the concrete floor in a corner of what was supposed to be the living room. He let them loose, but not entirely. Their hands were let free. The ropes he used to tie their legs together was removed and replaced with a chain attached to just one leg, just to keep them from being too comfortable in his abode. To remind them they were guests, not residents.

The lady squirmed and moaned. She was waking up.

Cutter only stood, watching with a blank expression.

Upon realizing her hands were free, it didn't take the mother a second to lift the bag off her head and do likewise for her little girl. After wiping her daughter's tears, hugging her, and sobbing, the woman finally spotted him staring at them in total revulsion though she wouldn't be able to see his face entirely, it was too dark. His face was only lit around the corners by the little light the moon sent into the house.

Cutter's silhouette form stood towering and ominous in the dark living room space. His long arms suited his towering figure. But that will be all that anyone would be able to make out this cold and dark night.

"Why have you done this to us?" Vivian asked with a shaky voice and a shaky body. She still had her arms wrapped around her little girl who was still out. The chloroform lasted longer with the little girl; her system wasn't as developed as her mother's, obviously.

Cutter didn't answer. He only looked on.

"Answer me!" She vented her frustration.

Still, no answer came from Cutter.

Vivian began to cry again.

"WHO ARE YOU!?" Vivian screamed at the top her lungs. She breathed heavily. Saliva dribbled down her lower lip. She didn't bother to clean it. She just held tight little Nicky who let out a moan now.

"Call me Cutter." He turned away from the mother and daughter.

Cutter went into his room and lay on his perfectly made bed. He hadn't built this piece of furniture though. He would let the girls in the living room comfort themselves for tonight. He would let them fool themselves into thinking that everything was fine. Then in the morning he would tape their mouths again. The mother was definitely going to run her mouth at him all day for doing what he was doing. He couldn't have that. No. Not in his house.

This game was just beginning. And what an interesting game it was turning out to be. Cutter could already see how it would end. With the detective in a pool of blood. He shuddered. Not from the bilious image of the detective in a pool of blood, but from the excitement of knowing he would be the one to put the detective in that pool of blood.

He glanced at the phone on the nightstand. Maybe it was time to give the detective a call.
5

IT was like coming out of a wormhole. Ricky's eyes seemed to blink at a rate of ten blinks per second. He woke up to find himself back at St. Sebastian Cathedral. Father David Mathews was right by his side saying something.

Ricky sat up and checked his limbs. He stretched out his arms and twirled them just to make sure he was in control of them. He was.

He was back. Back to the real world. Then he realized that he was back to the world were his wife and daughter had been killed. Back to the world where he would never get to see his Vivian again. Back to the world where he would never see his little angel, Nicky, again. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back in his vision, or dream, whatever it was. If he had a choice, he would choose to live in the world where Vivian and Nicky were kidnapped rather than in a world where they were dead.

He knew that operating in his visions, with his special skill, he would be able to discover their whereabouts and apprehend their captor. They could live like the perfect, loving family they always were again.

But he didn't have any skills that could raise the dead. And in this world, that was the skill he needed to see his wife and daughter again.

"Are you alright, Ricky?" Father David spoke with a voice fitting for a wise man. His hand was on Ricky's back, supporting him. "I've never seen you like this."

Father David peered into Ricky's eyes. Only God knew what the Father was seeing in his eyes. But the man had a way of just knowing some things.

Father David helped Ricky to his feet, and supporting him with an arm around his back, he lead Ricky to the closest pew and made him sit.

Ricky breathed in short uneven pulls now. He looked like the devil himself had been haunting him all day. The beads of sweat pushing themselves from the pores of his face told the story of a man who had been racing all day, at least whose heart had been. He couldn't have been racing, anyway. Father David must have found him lying on his back, breathing heavily, maybe even unconscious.

Ricky knew the one question that would be tugging at Father David's brain; what had he seen? Ricky was only at the altar whenever he needed to see a malefactor.

"Vivian...Nicky," Ricky's words were barely audible.

"Yes, I know. It's...all over the news." Father David tapped Ricky's back and relaxed his head.

They remained on that pew for another twenty minutes before Father David thought Ricky was ready for a change of location. They moved to his office which was a floor just above them.

Father David had offered Ricky a seat but Ricky said he preferred to stand. Ricky paced along the floor before Father David, who now sat in his leather chair which seemed to swallow him in. Father David clasped his hands, and placing his chin on his knuckles, his head trained Ricky, who was still pacing. His white hair contrasted the black leather seat behind him.

Ricky stopped at the window, overlooking the light street activities stirring below. He turned to face Father David's probing eyes. The eyes of a man who had seen five decades of earth's struggling.

"I don't know how to describe it, Father. It was like my eyes were fixed to the lens of a camera."

"And you say you followed yourself wherever you went?"

"Exactly."

"Go on." Father David urged him with his concentrated British accent.

"What's strange is, in my visions both Vivian and Nicky are alive."

"Did you see them? Did you speak with them?"

"No I—"

"How can you be so sure that they are actually still alive, then?"

"I guess they are." He decided to seat then. "I found our mini van in the parking lot of the Armston Mall not too far from our home."

"Did their captor leave a message? Phone call?" Father David kept asking questions. "Did he try to contact you? Kidnappers usually do that sort of thing."

Ricky relaxed into the seat Father David offered him earlier on. "Not when they aren't looking for ransom." He ran his fingers through his hair. "What does this mean? What could all this mean?"

For once Father David didn't look like he knew the answer to Ricky's questions. Father David was a wise man. He was a wise fifty-one year old man. And for thirty-nine years of his life he had been serving in the Catholic Church. He had read hundreds of books, maybe even thousands. He had read the Bible cover-to-cover on countless occasions. But today there were no revelations for the wise man to share with Ricky. He only looked on, and could most definitely only wish he could say something. Something to boost Ricky's spirit. Something that will give him a little hope.

But there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say. He only stared on, looking into Ricky's impassive eyes. They held their gaze for a full minute. But the minute of silence—as if planned for Vivian and Nicky—was broken by the chirp of Ricky's cell phone.

Ricky dipped his hand into his right pocket and pulled out his cell. Father David had relaxed in his chair and was staring at the window now, obviously deep in thought. The call was from the office. It was the Deputy Chief of Police, Darren Savage, to be precise. He hit the accept button and brought the cell to his ears.

"Ricky, Darren here. How you holdin' up?" Darren was first to speak.

"Alright, I guess."

"We'll find 'em Ricky, you can bank on that."

"Thanks," but Ricky didn't want to be reminded that they had gotten nowhere yet. "What's going on?"

"It's the killer." Darren's voice had so much distress in it.

Ricky sat up. Father David was facing him again. "Who, Cutter?" Father David's eyes went thin.

"He's taken another victim, Ricky."

Ricky wondered why they were telling him this. His wife's and daughter's bodies where still in the custody of a sadistic killer, and they were telling him that that killer had just taken another life? At that moment Ricky didn't care if Cutter killed a dozen more people. All he wanted were the bodies of his beloved Vivian and Nicky. But what Deputy Darren was about to say would change that.

"There is a message...for you."

"For me?" Ricky asked. Father David stared more intently then, his eyes literarily bore holes into Ricky's skull.

"It's not pretty."

"What's your twenty?" Ricky asked.

Darren's muffled voice came back. "It's a blue family house on Maple Street. You'll know it when you get here."

The phone went silent for a moment before Ricky spoke. "On my way." He hit the cancel button and placed the cell back in his right pocket.

From the intense look on Father David's face, the man had already guessed what was going on.

"I'll drive." Father David said rising to his feet and swiping his silver car keys off the table top.

~

Another killing? and just a few hours after his family was killed? Ricky had the right to question the fact that it was the same killer, Cutter, who was responsible. But Darren made it clear. It was Cutter. And he had even left a message for Ricky.

Why hadn't Cutter decided to kill him while he lay on the floor of the cathedral? Surely he had been watching him. Ricky answered his own question. Because that'll put Ricky out of his misery. Cutter didn't want to do that. He wanted Ricky to suffer. But what had Ricky done to merit this suffering? So many questions, so little answers. Truth be told, there were no answers at all.

Father David had been driving for about ten minutes now. He had only spoken to Ricky once during the journey to the victim's house. Now they were closing in on the street where some of the gallant men and women of the Armston Police Service were at a house, staring at another lacerated body.

"Oh no." Ricky said quietly as his eyes widened.

Father David slowed the vehicle down. The first time since they had taken off from the cathedral.

"Tell me God has revealed some hidden secrets to you." Father David said, in a battle to keep his head on the road while studying Ricky's countenance at the same time.

"Quite the contrary, Father." Ricky looked even more confounded than ever. "I don't know who the killer is, I mean...I know he calls himself Cutter. But I don't know him."

Ricky didn't know when Father David's right foot switched to the brakes. The car squealed and Ricky's body launched forward for a moment but was returned back into position by the effective seat belt.

Father David stared at Ricky a while. "But I met you in the cathedral. Did you not try to uncover the killer's identity?" Father David wasn't used to this kind of thing. He was used to always voicing answers to people's questions. But this case found him asking more questions. And the more questions you asked, the more dispirited you became. It was typical of any human.

"Yes, but I ended up watching myself in—"

"That vision, or whatever it is you call it." Father David interjected, easing the stick into drive. The car surged forward.

"Looks like I'm on my own."

Father David kept silent and Ricky knew why. There were no possible words of encouragement for a situation as bleak as this.

"Take this right."

Father David veered the car to the right, applying the brakes only slightly.

All the houses on the street looked the same. They were only differentiated by their colors. The house they were heading for was blue, Darren had told them. Blue. The color of sorrow and gloom. How fitting.

"That's it." Ricky pointed to the house. A uniformed officer was dragging some yellow tape around the house. Crime Scene, do not cross.

Father David angled for the curb and brought the 1995 Buick Rivera to a nose-dipping halt. They both exited the vehicle.

Father David's eyes where fixed at the entrance of the blue house, beyond the stony walkway. But Ricky's eyes went everywhere. Was Cutter watching? Or was he somewhere, treating himself to a delectable meal, giving himself a pat on his own back for taking three lives in less than twelve hours.

Ricky had taken a few steps away from the car when he realized that Father David hadn't moved. He turned back.

"I'll be fine here, thank you!" Father David forced a smile. "You can tell me all about it when you get back."

"Good idea." And Ricky was on his way.

~

RICKY left the officer pulling the yellow tape around the house behind and was now in the living room. Two uniformed officers stood adjacent to him, one held a yellow legal pad. They were talking to a lady still in her night wear, probably the wife of the deceased. The officer with the legal pad flipped a page and scratched his head.

"Ricky!" Darren Savage approached. Ricky's attention shifted from the officers interrogating the lady to see Darren Savage, the Armston Police Deputy, approaching.

"Hey, Darren. Take me to the body." Ricky wasn't ready for small talk. Darren Savage had a way of engaging people in small talk no matter the situation. But this was no time for talk, it was time for action. Something had to be done about this Cutter guy before more dead bodies turned up in blue houses all over the city.

"Victim was found lying dead on the floor of his bedroom this morning," Darren Savage began narrating as they headed up the stairs. "Mr. Wilcox. His wife was the one who placed the call. She never even knew when he was killed."

They came up the flight of stairs, and walked toward the last door, the one with another uniformed officer standing on guard. A dip of the head from Darren and they were inside.

Officer Murphy was at it again. He handled a Nikon D-90 camera, painting the room in occasional white flashes of light.

It was like walking into another nightmare. Mr. Wilcox's body lay face down on the wooden layered floor. His throat was slashed, and the word Cutter was scrupulously cut into his cheeks. Same MO used on Vivian and Nicky. But there was something else. Ricky could see cuts all over Mr. Wilcox's back. Blood snaked out of the cuts, running down his sides and pooling underneath his abdomen. Ricky looked around to see if anything seemed out of place. But everything was in place. Cutter hadn't touched anything he didn't need to touch. All he needed was another dead body, and the unlucky fellow was Mr. Wilcox this time around.

They were still at the door when Ricky spoke. "Where's the message?"

Darren indicated the body.

That couldn't be. The body was the message? What did Mr. Wilcox's body signify?

Darren put his hand on Ricky's back, still indicating the body. "After you." Darren looked at Ricky.

The moment Ricky got within reasonable distance of the body, his world began to spin. The lacerations on Mr. Wilcox's back weren't just that, they were letters. Words.

Sentences.

Cutter had cut a message for Ricky into Mr. Wilcox's body. Seeing letters cut into Mr. Wilcox's still moist back was unsettling enough. Having to read the blood-filled letters was another thing entirely. But Ricky pushed on. He read the red letters.

Hello Prophet! I see your future...

1 kings 19:10b

The Journey continues, Ricky.

Cutter.

Seeing those letters etched into another man's flesh was nauseating. Being forced to read them off the man's back was even more nauseating. But what finally tied Ricky's gut in a knot was the fact that his name was also cut into the victim's flesh. And it was the last word before the killer had signed off with his own name.

At first it was enjoy the rest of the Journey. Now it was, "The Journey continues." More innocent people were going to die. More innocent people were going to have Ricky's name etched into their delicate skins. The word "Journey" should be replaced with "nightmare". Enjoy the rest of the Nightmare. The Nightmare continues. That would be more appropriate.

It wasn't until Darren called out that Ricky realized he wasn't even breathing. He gasped out of his thoughts.

"You okay, buddy?" Darren's head was cocked as he examined Ricky. Even Officer Murphy momentarily stopped taking pictures and just stared at him.

"Yeah...Yeah, I'm okay." Ricky still had his eyes locked on Mr. Wilcox's naked back. Blood still sipped out of the letters on his back, though at a slower rate.

Why a serial killer was tormenting him this way, Ricky hadn't the slightest clue. The thought that the man responsible for all this was free and was probably watching him right now gnawed at the deepest part of his soul. The Nightmare continues. But he couldn't let it continue. He couldn't let the torment continue. He couldn't let Cutter kill more people. He had to stop him.

He excused himself and walked out of the room, down the flight of stairs into the living room where Mrs. Wilcox was still being interviewed. He wanted to walk up to her and tell her that she could give her husband a befitting funeral, after all, she had a body to bury. Where were Vivian's and Nicky's bodies?

But he just walked past, out of the house to meet Father David who was still waiting at the car.

~

FATHER David cut through the city at 80mph, a speed he had never read on the speedometer of his Rivera.

"What's in First Kings Nineteen?" Ricky said, resolve smothering his face.

Father David answered. "The story of the Prophet Elijah. Why?"

"Cutter said to look at First Kings Nineteen, ten b. He says that's where my future is."

Father David looked Shocked. "Prophets? Like You? Pardon me, but last time I checked having a police badge and wielding a sidearm weren't the requisites for becoming a prophet."

"Somehow he is relating my job as a detective to being a prophet. Standing up for the people, bringing the damned to judgment. Prophets are the mouth pieces of God, we are the mouth pieces of the law."

"Or, he knows you have the ability to see."

A beat. "Had the ability," Ricky corrected.

"We can't be too sure you've lost it. We must try again."

Ricky was in support of trying again. He needed to know if he still had the ability to see. Did Cutter really know about his ability to see? How long had the bastard been watching him?

Within the next ten minutes they were back at the cathedral. And as Ricky knelt before the altar, Father David read 1 Kings 19:10b. "—and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away. First Kings Nineteen, ten b." Father David closed his large black leather bible. God's holy book.

Ricky spread out his arms—as he was in habit of doing when he wanted to see something. He didn't comment on the verse Father David just read. Cutter was trying to tell him he was alone, and his life was being hunted. So this was really about him. He was the ultimate prize in the end. Cutter had just taken Vivian's and Nicky's lives to make this nightmare unbearable. He had done a good job.

He said a prayer quietly; the one he always said when he wanted a criminal's identity revealed. "God, I know you're out there...help me. Who is Cutter?" This was the second time he was saying this same line today.

~

Father David had eased down to the same pew he and Ricky sat on roughly an hour ago. His big black leather bible sat next to him on his right. He saw Ricky say something, though it wasn't audible enough for him to hear he had an idea what it might be. They had done this ritual together on numerous occasions.

Ricky's body jerked back. Normal. Then he began convulsing, like a man having a seizure. By now Father David was on his feet and heading for Ricky.

Ricky collapsed.
6

THE same scene. Same car. Same street. Ricky's eyes came open to reveal him driving his Toyota Corolla, staring at his ringing cell in his right hand, about to hit the accept key.

It was happening again.

He was trying to uncover Cutter's identity, but he ended up watching himself in this strange vision. He was once again a camera, trailing himself, unable to interact, or interpose, with any event that may occur.

He was here to only observe again.

~

Ricky slowed the car down to about twelve mph, and stared at the word 'Unknown', filling the LCD screen on his cell phone. He hit the send key with his thumb and accepted the call.

"Hi, Ricky." A clean voice spoke through the speaker, directly into Ricky's ears. It was a man's voice.

"Who's this?" Ricky inquired.

"Call me Cutter."

~

In a million years, Ricky Platt wouldn't have expected the man responsible for the killing of Vivian and Nicky to be the same man that was responsible for their kidnapping in his vision. It didn't make sense yet, but at least there was a link now. Cutter had killed his wife and daughter, and now he had kidnapped them.

It was then that Ricky realized something else about this vision he was having. When he was in the vision it was like he was having an out-of-body experience. That was the only way he could describe it.

Yes, he could look wherever he wanted to. Yes, he could listen to whatever he wanted to listen to. But whatever the Ricky in his vision saw, he saw also. Whatever the Ricky in his vision smelled, he smelled also. Whatever the Ricky in his vision heard, he heard also. This is how he knew Cutter had just given him a call.

He could hear Cutter's clean, manly, and breathy voice speak over the phone even as he watched himself taking the call.

He was hearing himself having a conversation with the man responsible for his family's death. But instead of repulsion—not that he didn't feel any—he felt a glimmer of hope as he watched and listened. If the same man responsible for the death of his family was responsible for the kidnapping of his family, then maybe he could get clues to his whereabouts from his vision. He would observe and get every piece of information he could possibly get.

~

Ricky was confused. He didn't know anyone by the name Cutter. But apparently Cutter knew him.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Ricky asked while trying to think of anyone by the name or alias Cutter. He kept the car moving at snail speed.

The voice came back. "I don't have much time to talk. Most people will say that calling you is a risk. But there is no better way to do this."

The man was mumbling. Ricky didn't have time. "Look, I'm having a rough—"

"I have your wife and daughter, Ricky."

Ricky slammed his foot on the brakes and stopped the car, ignoring the horn blasting from the overtaking vehicle. The driver yelled a curse as he went past.

The phone was silent for almost five seconds before Cutter spoke again. "It's been too long. I have played this very moment in my head for decades. Don't worry about your wife and your little girl, they are fine, a little bit hungry, but fine."

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?

"I've already told you who I am. As for the 'why-am-I-doing-this?' part; you know how pastors feed us with lies? They say vengeance is of the Lord, but the Lord's vengeance is neither wholesome nor timely? He watches you observe your enemy and wish that vengeance would be wrath on them, and then when it's time—if that time ever materializes—what your enemy goes through barely compensates for the agonizing years of wait."

"What are you saying? Let me talk to my family!"

Cutter totally ignored Ricky's request. He went on. "I've killed you a dozen times, but now I have the real you. If you find your family in time, I will spear them and take your life. If you fail to find us however, I'll kill your wife," Ricky whimpered a 'No' under his breath, "your little girl, and finally, you!"

Click!

The line went dead.

Ricky sat in his Toyota. His world swam around him. His heart thumped at an alarming rate as he fought hard against total breakdown in his car. He was perspiring and hyperventilating. He had to get a hold of himself. It was as he thought: Cutter had kidnapped both Vivian and Nicky on their trip to the mall.

Ricky managed to steady his breathing and get a hold of himself. He needed to get to a point where he could think clearly, without the smoke that clouded his mind. Normally the first action to take now would be to inform members of the Armston Police force about the call. But there was something more important he couldn't but do. He needed to let his mentor, Father David, know about this whole mess. He needed to uncover the kidnapper's identity. Since he had the kidnapper's name already it shouldn't be much of a problem.

Ricky's trembling hand struggled to sift Father David's number off the list of innumerable contacts in his cell. He hit the send key, and waited for Father David to pick.

Father David picked up on the third ring. "Yes?"

"I need to see you right away, Father!"

"Ricky? Is – is everything alright?"

"The word alright doesn't exist in my vocabulary anymore." Ricky replied.

"Yes, of course. I'm always here if you need me."

"I'll be there in ten."

Next on his call list was Armston Police Service. He needed to tell them everything. And he did.

His wife and daughter were missing. Kidnapped. Vivian and Nicky were in mortal danger if he couldn't get their current location—which he was oblivious to by the way. And what was worse, Ricky didn't even know how much time he had before this Cutter started cutting.

"We're sending a team to the Armston Mall right now." The officer on the other end of the line said.

"Contact me the moment you get something." Ricky replied.

"Will do."

Ricky ended the call and tossed the phone on the passenger's seat. He placed his trembling hands on the wheel and stared at it. Vivian and Nicky were being held by a mad man. And the mad man was going to kill them if he didn't find them in time. He tried to still his trembling hands, but they stilled only a little. He stepped on the gas and was on his way, heading for the cathedral under the blackened night sky.

~

The more Ricky watched himself, the more things began to unravel. It was surprise after surprise, after surprise. First, Ricky had found out that the man responsible for Vivian and Nicky's death was also responsible for their kidnapping in his vision. Now he also found out that he had his strange ability to uncover criminal's identities in his vision as well.

This vision was more closely linked to the real world than he once thought. It was definitely his key to finding out who Cutter was. Ricky was sure that the more he watched himself, the closer he would come to finding out who this Cutter guy was. And if he could uncover Cutter's identity in his vision, that would be as good as knowing who was responsible for his family's death.

But he wouldn't be able to have Cutter incarcerated based on the fact that that was the face he saw in his vision. He would need to do his homework and provide worthwhile evidence to attest the fact that the man was really responsible for his family's and Mr. Wilcox's death. It still won't be an easy task. But it would be a whole lot easier once the Ricky in the vision got to Father David.

That was what Ricky hoped.

But what he feared was; if the two worlds are closely related, then there was a high possibility that he had lost his ability to see criminals in his vision as well. Fact was, he felt like that was most likely going to be the case. He would just have to wait and see. Wait like a husband waiting for his wife to come out of the labor room before hearing whether everything went alright, or whether either the wife or child didn't make it. Or worse, whether neither his wife nor child made it through. The point was, he would just have to wait.

~

Cutter stared at the analog phone on his nightstand in the bedroom. Technology made it very easy to spark fear into humans. If God was the good-all-the-time deity Christians said he was, Cutter would have thanked him for his phone. But he had found out over the long years that God was bad all the time, if not to anyone else, then to him alone. Nevertheless he was still grateful, to himself, for the phone.

But there was something on Cutter's mind. He had told Ricky that his wife and his daughter were a little bit hungry and he had no intention of keeping it that way. He needed to whip up something they could eat, but he was out of food. He would visit the Armston Mall for the second time to buy his guests some healthy green vegetables.

Cutter made his way out of the makeshift bedroom.

It never ceased to amaze Cutter, that humans always ran back to the good God because he was "so good." But they always ran away from vegetable. Weren't vegetables good, just like God? No. They were better than God, coz after all God wasn't good, was he?

Cutter had no intention of paying his guests any mind even as he stepped out to get them something to eat, but he just had to look at the works of his hands. Bounded in the corner of his living room in the old shack, were the mother and daughter. The family of the detestable law enforcer. He shook his head in pity. But was it really pity? No. He was pleased at himself. He shook his head in disbelief. After over a decade of looking for this detective he had finally laid his hands on the detective's family. And now the detective would want to kick himself in his own butt for not being a good husband or a good father either. He made for the door.

"Please..." The woman spoke out of a tired throat. She was cuddling her daughter who was now asleep. "Please..." She sniffed. "We're sorry." She was stroking the little girl's hair.

Cutter's hand was already on the door knob when the woman began to beg.

"Sorry?" Cutter asked. "Oh, but you've done nothing. There is no need to be sorry."

That reply made her break down in tears. She obviously knew there was no way she was getting out of this one anytime soon.

Cutter shut the door to the old shack and angled for his van. Dust rose from all the four tires as he sent the van reversing with all he'd got. Before long he was driving on asphalt again, headed for the same place he had picked his guests up earlier in the day.

The Toyota Sienna the lady had left behind was still in the parking lot. The police might have already taken note of it. If the detective had already reported the incidence, they might have already been here. They probably just hadn't towed the car yet. He needed to be fast. But he was always one step ahead anyway. He would go in, get some veggies and head straight back for the shack, whip up a late dinner for his guests and apologize for making dinner late.

The ignorance of mankind. Cutter could almost not believe this was the same mall he had kidnapped the young, sweet looking girl from. The same mall he kidnapped the woman from, also. He was back here, and no one knew who he was, or what he was planning.

He was here to buy some groceries, free as a bird, and free as the wind.

~

Ricky was getting anxious. He was pacing. Father David's head trained him.

"You know you can't do this exhibiting so much fear, right?" Father David finally said, after watching Ricky take a few laps around the room.

Ricky clasped his hands together and rubbed his palms. "I know, I know," His breathing was thick. "I just have to get a hold of myself."

Ricky had already told Father David everything. All that was left was for them to try and uncover Cutter's identity.

Father David looked at his watch then sank his chin into his hand.

When Ricky finally got a hold of himself, he let his arms drop at his side and stretched his fingers in a bid to prove that he was calm. "All right, I'm ready."

Ricky dropped to his knees at the altar and spread his arms out in his usual fashion.

The whole scene paused.

~

Ricky knew what was going on. He was waking up again. He always woke up at the wrong time. He needed to see the result of this experiment. He needed to know who Cutter was. Getting his identification in the real world was already an impossibility. This was his only hope. And now he was waking up.

Waking up to find out that there was no hope.

7

RICKY woke up to the horrific news. He couldn't see anymore, spiritually that is. His physical eyes still worked all right. But it was his spiritual eyes he needed now. But they had failed him. He could see Father David staring. His face had a short but definite question written on it. "So?" He wanted to know.

Ricky hung and wagged his head. That was answer enough for the Father.

"Another vision?" Father David asked.

Ricky didn't bother thinking up a reply. It just rolled off his tongue. "Another vision. And this time you won't believe what I saw."

It was all coming back now. Everything Ricky had seen in his vision. The inquisitive Father David wanted to know exactly what Ricky had seen this time, and Ricky wasted no time in spilling everything out to his mentor.

They sat together on the pew again as Ricky narrated everything. He told Father David how the vision picked up from where it had stopped the last time. It was like pausing live TV.

"The same point?"

Ricky replied, "The very same point on Regent Street. And trust me, you won't believe what happened next." Father David's eyes seemed to be piercing beyond Ricky's eyes and into his brain, trying to sift out the information before it came out his mouth. "I got a call from Cutter."

"Cutter? The killer?"

"The very same."

"The same killer responsible for Vivian and Little Nicky's deaths." Father David kept going. "The same killer responsible for the death earlier today?"

"Yes."

Father David relaxed into the pew. "This is getting interesting. Your vision seems to be in harmony with reality."

"I know."

The Father probed. "So, in your vision are Vivian and Nicky still alive?"

"Yes." Ricky was almost without emotion. "He told me so."

"Cutter?"

Ricky buried his head between his palms and let his fingers tunnel through his disheveled hair. "He is actually after me. Getting my family is just a means to lure me to looking for him. Like a sick game."

"But are they fine? Vivian and Nicky. Are they alright?"

Ricky chuckled at that. "He said they were hungry, but he was going to take care of that."

"But what's his motif?" Father David seemed to be having a change in career. Father turned detective.

Ricky raised his head and placed his chin between his right index finger and his thumb. Father David had gotten him thinking. "He did say something about having killed me a dozen times."

Father David was totally perplexed now. The question was; how could someone die a dozen deaths?

"He said, 'I've killed you a dozen times, now I have the real you.' What on earth could that mean?"

Father David rose to his feet and bent over back ward to crack his backbone. "Ricky, it's getting late. I think you need to give your head a little break before trying to crack this mess." An advice both men could actually use. "One things for sure, though. You aren't going to see Cutter's identity no matter how much you try. But this vision, you'll need to harness all you can from it. I don't believe God has taken your gift and replaced it with this for nothing. This vision could be what would lead you to Cutter.

"But like I said, get some rest. Give your head a break. You are practically managing two worlds now, something I've never heard of." Father David, yawned behind a closed mouth. It came out as only a muffled sound.

Ricky stood up from the pew and rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb. They were getting red, tired, and heavy. Father David was right, he really did need some sleep, and he wasted no time confirming it. "I think you're right. I need some rest." Even though he felt weak and tired, he didn't see how he was going to be able to catch a shut eye with all the trouble around him. Not only that, it seemed the wrong thing to do, especially when your wife and daughter had both been killed and kidnapped at the same time.

But his body was telling on him. He said good night to Father David, and headed on home—aware of the fact that Cutter was watching him every step of the way.

The lights inside the house were off. The inside of the house appeared black.

The time was a quarter past eleven, and everyone was home, evidence being that all the cars were parked right next to the sidewalks on either side of the road, some on driveways, and some—though he couldn't see them—were parked in garages. Cutter had seen all this the night before. The Armston Police Service couldn't see any sign of forced entry, hence couldn't identify a point of entrance or exit used by Cutter.

Ricky walked up to the door, drove the key into the keyhole. The rattling seemed excruciatingly loud in his ears amidst the quiet of the street at this hour of night. The door clicked open. Ricky went in, closed the door behind him and flipped the switch.

The living room was instantly flooded with light emanating from the ceiling.

"Hello!" Ricky called out, hoping to get no answer from who he feared could be in there.

Ricky craned his neck in various directions, looking above a lamp, beside the coat hanger, all to be sure that he was alone.

Then he heard a call. Followed by the sound of the pitter-patter of little feet.

"Daddy!" The little voice called.

Nicky? It was Nicky. Ricky ran for his little girl's room. Only to be hit with a daunting reality. She wasn't there. He was hearing things.

His skin glowed beneath a thin layer of sweat. But I heard her! I could have sworn it! This was hopeless. If he didn't know he needed rest before, he knew it now.

After a peek into his bedroom he headed for the living room where he would spend the night. He didn't have it in him to sleep on the very same bed his wife had been brutally killed the night before.

Ricky lay on the couch in a fetal position, his eyes in constant motion, hoping to catch any moving object. Hoping to spot Cutter coming for is final prize. But he didn't, and within moments Ricky was asleep.
8

THE moment Chief Delay took a left around the curb leading to his house he knew something was wrong. He slowed his car, and went forward like a slug. He didn't know exactly what was wrong, but he knew evil when he felt it. It wasn't like the chief had a nose that could perceive evil, and that was why this was scary.

Chief Delay wanted to believe that the nightmare Ricky experienced the night before was the cause for this eerie awareness he felt now. But he knew better, he could feel evil in a physical kind of manifestation creeping all over his skin, like a dozen spiders, even as he clutched the steering wheel with both hands.

The dark street was entirely vacant. Only the evenly spaced out street poles lit the street. Every light in every house was off. He crawled up—in his car—closer to his house, all the while seriously examining the street for anything that might be out of place.

He couldn't see anything out of place. But he could feel it. He could almost hear it. Whispering. He could hear the breath of a man, No, a demon, lying in wait.

Or it could be that he just needed rest. He settled for that, but he was still a very cautious man. He had his car parked two houses away from his and covered the remaining distance on foot. He hid behind thickets, behind trees, even behind light poles till he came to the white picket fence that ran all the way from his house, to the end of his neighbor's.

He leaped over the fence, placing his left hand on it for support. Once his feet touched the fine grass in his neighbor's front yard he ducked, hoping no one in the street would see him and get the wrong idea.

He pulled out his Glock from his shoulder holster which was veiled by his patterned blazer. He cocked the pistol as he edged for the fence demarcating his neighbor's home from his.

Chief Delay peered through the spaces between about three pickets, his gun pointed to the ground. He was expecting to see a figure draped in a trench coat in his yard, standing still like The Hitcher. But it was bare, at least the section he could get a view of.

He ran, quietly, alongside the fence, pistol ready. He looked through the spaces between pickets as the view of his compound opened up to reveal the backyard. No one was there so far, except the crickets, chirping.

He threw his legs over the fence and landed with a little thud in his own back yard. The lights in his house were all off. He wouldn't be able to tell if anyone was lying in wait inside.

Delay angled for the back door, still in his hunkered posture, trialing the ground with his pistol. He placed his back flat on the wall beside the back door and sunk to a squat. He gave the handle a gentle tug and a slight push. It was still locked. That was a good sign, though it didn't mean that the ghost he was looking for wasn't inside.

With his gun in his right hand he reached his free hand into his blazer's right inner pocket and retrieved the keys to the house. He drove the key in, twisted it and pushed the door open only slightly. He craned his neck to peer into his kitchen through the inch–wide opening. He could see the counters against the wall. The windows inside allowed rays of the moonlight penetrate and light up the kitchen ever so eerily. Airborne particles drifted slowly in the air. But there was still no sign of anyone.

He opened the door wide enough to fit in. Slipping into his kitchen, he closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it with his keys. Pistol stretched out in front of him, he inched forward, scanning the kitchen and the hall which was a few feet away.

Delay's house was a cozy home. A one-bedroom bungalow. He and his wife stayed in the house together before she'd passed away. They had no kids.

The Chief headed for the hall and into the living room which he also found to be empty. He searched the bathroom, the bedroom, everywhere before he knew he was just stressed out. There was no one in his house. No one wanted to kill him.

He made for the front door. He needed to retrieve his car from where he'd left it down the road.

Delay had only placed his hand on the doorknob when he thought he heard something shuffling in his kitchen. Could be rats, he told himself though he didn't have any rat infestation problems. And if he did have rat problems, those rats must really be peeving him. Pointer: his gun was ready again as he inched for the kitchen one quiet step at a time.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the shuffle again, this time from his living room. He veered left and entered the living room. Nothing.

I must really be loosing it! Delay told himself, shaking his head as he turned around to head back into the hall.

Then he heard it again. This time it was right behind him. A footfall on the wooden floor of his living room. He had company. But he didn't have company a second ago. His heart raced, and suddenly the temperature wasn't cool anymore. He wanted to reach for the light switch but was afraid that any sudden movement might cause an unwanted event.

Having the knowledge that somebody was behind him—though no one was there a moment ago—sent chills up the Delay's back. It was like a scorpion was working its way up his bare back.

He turned around slowly. Really slowly. And when he had turned a full hundred-and-eighty degrees, he saw his demon. It was a man, dressed in a simple plaid shirt and slacks. Delay could only make the details out because of the moonlight hitting the intruder from behind.

The man held a meat cleaver in one hand. He twirled it, sending the rays of moonlight reflecting all over the dark living room.

Why Delay hadn't raised his gun and blasted this demon to kingdom come, he had no clue. The more he looked at him, the more his heart raced. Delay could feel his heart thumping mightily against his chest. His hands began to tremble and his gun clattered to the floor.

He wanted to stoop low and get his gun. He wanted to ask the man some questions. He wanted to arrest the sucker and jail him for breaking and entering before he would have to jail him for assaulting an officer of the law. He wanted to do all these things.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't move. He was taken by an overwhelming fear of this mysterious stranger. He could make nothing of the stranger's face. It was nothing but a black blank.

Suddenly the man stopped twirling the cleaver in his hand and took a step forward.

Chief could feel his heart expand even as it raced even more. He could tell that the weapon the man held would be a perfect match to the one used to cut up Ricky's wife and daughter. This was their man.

This was Cutter.

At that realization, Delay's heart quickened the more. He felt it getting bigger and bigger in his chest, like a balloon expanding, waiting to pop. His world tipped, and before he knew it he was on the floor, grasping at his chest with both hands. Now he couldn't feel his heart beat. He was going into cardiac arrest.

The final image he saw was that of a man's silhouette, wielding a cleaver, approaching him. The last thing he heard was the clunking of the man's shoes on his wooden floor before everything went black.

~

Cutter walked up to the Armston Police Service Chief's body rather casually. His mission here tonight was a simple one; Kill the APS head, and leave another message for Prophet Ricky. He twirled his shiny knife as he bent to a squat above the now dead chief's body.

"Naked did you come out of your mother's womb," Cutter said, still twirling the knife in his hand. "And naked shall you return thither." He began stripping the corpse of its clothes till it was left bare, save its boxers.

Rolling the body over, he placed the apex of his blade on the chief's bare back and dug it in only a little. How tender it was. How soft and delicate the human skin was. Just like their heart, easily swayed by the slightest thing. Cutter punctured the skin at the dead Chief's shoulder blade and drew his knife down in a diagonal course. The Chief's body was a canvas, and he was the artist.

For every micrometer Cutter dragged the cleaver over Delay's skin, he was greeted by the ever intriguing amount of red liquid that seeped out of the skin. A vampire of the night. That's what he was.

In no time, the first character of his latest message to his prophet friend, Ricky, was complete. It was a "W". Cutter settled down to continue the message, grinning as he did.

It took Cutter a good twenty minutes to complete his message. When he was done he rose to his feet, took a couple of steps back and cocked his head, scrutinizing the works of his hands. Another perfect job. No. Another perfect "Job".

With a satisfied heart, Cutter exited the house.

~

Ricky was abruptly woken up by the shrilly tone of his cell phone. It took Ricky a moment to get oriented. He was in the living room, not the bedroom. He had decided to spend the night on the couch, and by the looks of it, it wasn't morning yet, or at least it was a very early part of the morning. His phone was still ringing. Holding the phone in one hand, Ricky rubbed the sleep off his eyes with the other before he took a look at the LCD display.

It was Darren Savage again. This could not be good.

Ricky hesitated a beat before gathering enough grit to hit the accept button. "Darren?" It came out as a question though he already knew who was speaking. He cleared his throat. "It's 3am,"

"I know," Darren's reply came over the earpiece.

A beat.

Darren continued. "We have a situation," Darren paused again. "It's the Chief."

That moment, any scintilla of sleep fell off Ricky's eyes. He knew for certain that it couldn't be good news.

~

Ricky exited his vehicle right in front of the Chief's residence. He had taken note of Chief Delay's vehicle parked two houses back. That raised a question in Ricky's mind. Was chief Delay expecting anyone last night?

Ricky moved toward the bungalow, ducking under the crime scene tape with a raised arm as the first light of the sun hit the street. On entering the house, he could hear the muffled voices of detectives and police men, the clicking of a camera and the ruffling of sheets of papers coming from the living room. That was the scene of the crime.

In the living room, Darren towered over the Chief's body, hands on his belt. He was now the interim Chief of Police.

Ricky noticed the writings on the Chief's back. It was the same as yesterday. Cutter had killed the Chief and left a message on his back for Ricky. Darren said not a word, neither did Ricky.

Ricky couldn't explain the emotions he felt inside. He was somber. The Chief was dead, killed by the same man who had killed his family a couple of nights back. But on the other hand he was boiling with rage. He didn't know how he could get his hand on this lawless psychopath.

Suddenly, Darren's voice broke off Ricky's chain of thoughts.

"Does it mean anything to you?" Darren said, finally making eye contact with Ricky.

Ricky looked at the chief's body again, and crouched to get a better look at the bloodied letters engraved on his back. This time it read;

When I looked for good, then Evil came unto me; And when I waited for Light, there came Darkness...

That was all. There was nothing more. Nothing like, The journey continues or, enjoy the rest of the journey this time. He went to the point.

Of course, Cutter hadn't come up with this...quote. Ricky knew it. It felt vaguely familiar.

"No. Not yet it doesn't." Ricky said, answering Darren's question from before.

This was the handy work of the man who had killed his family. But also the handy work of the man who had kidnapped them as well. Even now, squatting over the Chief's dead body, Ricky wondered what correlation his vision had to these events.

He traced his fingers around the cuts. This was done with the very same apparatus used on Mr. Wilcox, Ricky gathered. Ricky hung his head in respect to the Chief before rising to his feet again.

"What we do gather is; Cutter is trying to make you know there's no hope." Darren said.

"I gathered that much." Ricky said, cracking his knuckles with the clenching of his fingers. "Give me a moment," Ricky pulled out his phone from his pocket and crossed to the door leading to the hall. He knew there was more meaning to the bloody note on Chief Delay's back.

Within seconds, Ricky had sifted the Catholic Father's number and gave it a ring.

"Ricky, is everything alright?" Father David's familiar voice came over the phone.

"There's been another victim." Ricky paused. "It's the Chief, Father."

"The Chief? You mean Delay?"

Grief tightened Ricky's throat. His voice went thin. "I need to confirm its meaning."

"A riddle?"

"Not so much." Ricky said with more composure now. He swiveled for another glance at the Chief's bloodied back.

"Do tell."

Once again, Ricky read the message that was carved on the Chief's back. "'When I looked for good, then Evil came to me, And when I waited for light, there came darkness.' Mean anything to you?"

"Give me a minute. And Ricky..."

"Yes?"

"You need to be strong."

It wasn't like he had any choice. Going weak at a time like this would spell nothing short of disaster. "Thanks."

Ricky waited a minute before his phone beeped to life. Father David.

"Ricky?"

"Got anything for me, Father?"

"The message you read off the Chief's back," Father David was talking swiftly with his lordly British accent. "It's a quotation from the eighteenth book of the bible, Job."

"Job,"

"Those were the very thoughts of Job, Ricky."

Ricky stared at the Chief's pale body. "He's attacking me. I feel like there's more to this than him just trying to tell me there's no hope."

"Ricky we must talk."

"I'll meet you at your place in an hour." Ricky hung up and started for the exit when he heard Darren's call.

"Ricky! Ricky!"

Ricky spun around to see Darren running straight for him.

"Ricky what've you got?"

"Nothing." Ricky made to walk out of the door.

Darren pulled Ricky back by his shoulder. "If you have anything that you think we can use to solve this, I suggest you tell me. You can't do this on your own."

"I just need time, Darren. I need time to figure out what's going on?"

Darren stepped up to Ricky till their faces were only a couple of inches apart. "You wanna know what's going on Ricky? You're being haunted, man." Darren prodded his index finger in the air at Ricky. "You're being haunted by a mad man whom you've offended in your past." Still prodding. "Have you seen what's going on around you? Your family is dead, Ricky. A civilian has been killed, because of you. The Chief, Ricky," Darren pointed at the entrance to the living room. "The Chief is dead, because of you. That's four people in just a couple of days. Time is the only thing we don't have right now."

"But it's the only thing I need now. Let me know when the autopsy report is out." With that Ricky was out of the Chief's house.
9

Father David's house was built to suit his personality. Conservative.

The Catholic Father had never been big on extravagance, and it showed in every of his possessions. The whole setting was very cozy.

Ricky and the Father sat across from each other in antique leather chairs. An antique rug with a simple glass table placed on it separated them from one another. There was only one picture on the shelf in the parlor; it was of the Father and his parents. Considering that he was a Catholic Priest, there were no family pictures. Then there was a huge near-life-sized picture of the Father and Pope Benedict XVI with their foreheads in contact.

"No doubt, Cutter knows his scriptures." Father David said, finally opening his bible to the book of Job. "When I looked for good, then Evil came unto me; And when I waited for Light, there came Darkness," Father David traced the page with his index finger as he read.

"That's the second verse from the bible he's quoting."

"First Elijah, now Job. This is more than just a way of letting you know you have no hope. This is a way of telling you that God doesn't exist." Father David said, eyes still fixed on the page of the bible he had opened.

"Does he?"

"Pardon?" Father David drilled Ricky straight in the eyes.

"Exist. 'Coz right now it sure doesn't feel like He does." Ricky was only speaking what was locked up in his mind. He did know that God existed, after all, he wasn't an atheist. But God certainly felt dead to him at the moment.

"Ricky, don't tell me you're giving in to this man's deception," Father David closed his bible.

"This man killed my family, and what did God do to stop him? He made me blind so I could have a harder time finding this killer."

"But you aren't blind, Ricky. Can't you see? You are experiencing something totally magnificent." Now Father David stood, and carpeted across the room, swinging his arms in the air. "You are experiencing two worlds." Father David's accent made it all sound like something from a fantasy book.

"I only need one world, Father. And in that world I need to find who is responsible for my family's death."

"The same man who is responsible for you family's abduction in the second world, remember."

Ricky stopped to think. It was true. Cutter was responsible for the death of his family in this world. But in the other world, the world where he followed himself around like a camera attached to a boom, he was responsible for the kidnapping of his family.

Ricky stared at the Father. "Prove it."

"Prove what?"

"Prove that God exists." Ricky knew his words would sound strange to the man. The Ricky that Father David knew wouldn't talk this way about God.

"I'll do just that." Father David said, and was at once back at his seat, wielding his bible in his hands. He flipped the pages. "Job, thirty, twenty-six." Father David called out with confidence wrapping his voice. He began to read, "'When I looked for good, then Evil came unto me; And when I waited for Light, there came Darkness,' The words of Job when God allowed the devil have way in his life."

Ricky watched the man.

"Ricky, Job went through a little bit of what you're going through now. His family was killed, not by a sadistic killer, but by the devil himself. Yet Job never said there was no God. He believed till the end. Now get this," Father David said as he flipped the pages of his bible again. "The twelfth and thirteenth verse of Job, forty-two is where I'm headed," He began to read, "'So the LORD blessed the latter end of Job more than his beginning: for he had fourteen thousand sheep, and six thousand camels, and a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand she asses. He had also seven sons and three daughters." Father David stopped.

"He had another family. What does that mean? You want me to move on?"

"Ricky, Job didn't move on. God blessed him with the real deal. Job ended up happier than he ever was before, even though he suffered many things."

Now Ricky was flummoxed. Would God be so wicked as to allow a serial killer kill his family just to test him? Maybe. He did it to Job, didn't He?

"Before you get the wrong idea let's check the other excerpt out shall we," Father David began flipping the pages backward. Again with confidence, Father David called like he might on a Sunday morning. "First Kings, nineteen, ten b," He began to read. "'—and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.' What do you make of this, Ricky?"

"He has killed my family, leaving just me. But he isn't satisfied. He's still going to come after me."

"I had some time to look at this narration before you got here,"

"And?"

"If you read further down, you'll find that the prophet was talking with God. This is God's response; 'Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which hath not kissed him.' When the prophet thought he was alone, he wasn't actually alone. The other prophets were only hidden, Ricky."

"There is hope."

"God exists."

"But what does that mean? That I'm not alone? Vivian and Nicky are still alive?"

"I seriously doubt that. You said you've seen pictures of their bodies,"

"Yes, but no physical body to prove it."

"Ricky—"

"Hear me out, Father," Ricky stood up, too excited to sit. "What if you're right? What if I'm not alone? What if Vivian and Nicky are still alive? only holed up somewhere. Wouldn't that mean my visions are more accurate than this world?"

Father David was on his feet too. "What are you insinuating, Ricky? That this world is fake and your visions are real?"

Father David's putting it that way made Ricky doubt himself. He didn't know how to answer. That'll mean he wasn't actually talking to Father David. He was talking to a figment of his imagination, whereas Father David was standing before him. Flesh and blood. Real.

"All I was trying to say was, there's still hope. God exists."

"But what if, Father? What if?"

~

Hearing Ricky talk like this moved Father David. He looked like a kid in grade school pleading for his father to have faith in him. He had wanted to prove to Ricky that God still existed. But instead he was making him believe that the world wasn't real?

Should I indulge? Father David thought to himself. Besides, hadn't Jesus said something about becoming like a child?

"How do you want to prove it?"

"Let me try and see Cutter again."

Father David spent almost half a minute mulling over Ricky's request before he finally said, "Let's go to the cathedral."

Ricky had only started for the coat stand when his cell phone rang. He picked.

"Darren," he listened, then put the phone back into his pocket. "The Chief's autopsy report just came in."

"Meet me in the cathedral, you can tell me all about it then."
10

Right about now, Father David would be in the cathedral waiting for Ricky. He'd received a call from Deputy—or was it Acting Chief—Darren earlier. The Chief's autopsy was in.

Ricky was particularly curious about this for a few reasons;

One: There had been no sign of violence. Same as it was with all the other victims.

Two: Even with the words etched on the Chief's back, Bob Delay hadn't lost enough blood to put him down, at least not by the time they had found him.

Three: The cuts and the fact that the chief was near naked when they found him were the only pointers that Cutter had even so much as touched Bob.

It was a curious case. Very curious.

But standing in the morgue right now, Ricky hoped for just one thing; answers.

He wasn't alone. Darren Savage was present, looking like the world was about to end. Why wouldn't he look that way; a psychopath had the courage to go after Armston's Police Chief. And he had done just that and succeeded at his plans.

Darren was now the interim Chief, unofficially though. There was no time to state it officially. They had to focus on the trouble at hand. This really wasn't about the chief. It was still about Ricky.

"I don't get this. You're saying nothing physical killed the Chief?" Ricky asked, trying to wrap what the medical examiner had just told them around his mind.

Thomas Card, the Medical Examiner, replied. "Don't get me wrong, Ricky. A physical effect killed officer Delay, it just wasn't physically inflicted." The man adjusted his perfectly circular spectacles. He looked like a character from Harry Potter donning a white surgical gown and gloves.

"Thomas. What killed the Chief?" Ricky asked. He was most eager to know. If his family was dead, then there was the bantam possibility that what killed the Chief had killed them too.

The three men stood over the steel table on which Chief Bob Delay's body lay on—face down. Thomas Card drilled Ricky a stare for some moments.

"Chief Delay died of a cardiac arrest."

"You can't be serious." Darren protested.

"As serious as a funeral proceeding."

Ricky stared at the body. The dried, bloody words on the Chief's back were very sharp under the lights. Did that mean that Vivian and Nicky had both died of a heart attack? Did that mean that Mr. Wilcox had died of a heart attack too? Did that mean that Cutter hadn't really killed these people?

"Surely he must have found a way to get something that could cause a cardiac arrest into his system." Ricky saw that Thomas was already shaking his head. "Drug, Intravenous,"

Thomas shook his head. "There is no trace of any chemical elements in his body. Also no perforations in his skin to indicate that he had used a syringe. This was eerily natural."

But there was nothing natural about this.

Thomas continued. "What bemuses me though, is that from all indications, Bob had never had a cardiac arrest prior to this one. He was a healthy man...before this."

Now this was totally confounding.

Cutter wasn't actually killing his victims? But something wasn't right here. Every victim died without a form of struggle. How could little Nicky have died of a cardiac arrest? Vivian, yes, he could accept—even though it wasn't probable, after all she was a healthy twenty-nine year old woman. But Nicky too?

Just as Ricky's mind asked all these questions, Darren's mouth asked another. "What are the chances that everybody who meets a certain man within a couple of days all die of cardiac arrest regardless of their ages?" It was directed as Thomas.

Ricky looked at Thomas, eager for an answer.

"None. Are you saying there are more victims like this?"

"Three." Darren replied. "One Mr. Wilcox, and Ricky's wife and daughter,"

Darren looked at Ricky.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Why didn't I know about this sooner?" Thomas adjusted his spectacles again.

Darren began peeling off his gloves. "Mrs. Wilcox wouldn't allow her husband's body under the knife."

"And his wife and daughter?" Thomas asked.

Ricky answered that one. "The killer still has their bodies,"

The room went silent. Ricky was sure Thomas had regretted asking.

Ricky peeled off his gloves too, crossed the room and dumped his surgical gown on a counter. "Well this was no help."

No one answered.

"We need to do something before he strikes again." Ricky was at the exit. "And standing around here isn't going to help us."

With that he was out with only one destination on his mind.

The Cathedral.

~

The rains had been pouring all over Washington all morning. And now it had only lessened to an imperceptible drizzle. It did keep the temperature cool, and cool was what was needed right now. Especially to cool FBI agent Bill Gleeson's head.

"Do you see the story the Armston Herald is running?" Bill asked the SAC sitting before him as he waved his iPad in the air. He was looking for just one word from his boss.

The room was well fitted with wooden paneled walls. And even though the conference room could accommodate nothing less than twenty people comfortably, it was just these two men, FBI Agent Bill Gleeson, and the SAC of the Washington field office, Henry Partridge, sitting along each side of the oval table, directly opposite each other, glowering.

The sound of the drops of rain, smashing into the window provided a background noise capable of not making their silence too obvious.

"It does seem to be our UNSUB, doesn't it?" Henry spoke. He wore a patterned blazer on khaki pants. His necktie looked like it was done too tight. And regardless of the fact that Bill thought he should be chocking by now, he seemed to be doing pretty okay breath-wise.

"This is our UNSUB. He's got the same MO. I mean check this out." Bill began to read. "Mysterious death catches Armston residents off guard. Who's next?" He scrolled the page up with a flick of his index finger. "The body of the Police Chief has excerpts of bible verses cut into his back. No one but Cutter is capable of this, I'm telling you."

There had been no clear picture that Bill could get analyzed to reveal Cutter's MO, the Armston Police had probably kept all images out of the hands of the media so as to curb mass panic. But from the article, Bill knew he was right.

"There is always the chance it's a copy-cat,"

"Sir, all I'm asking is that I check this guy out. I've been busting my butt for too long trying to find this guy to just allow him slip through my hands again."

Henry hesitated. Then he sighed. "Talk to the Armston Police Service. Get them to send everything they've got on these murders spreading like fire to you. If, and I say if, you can link this to Cutter you've got your case back on your hands."

That wasn't exactly what Bill was waiting for, but it was a foot in the door. He was solid on the fact that Cutter was the same man responsible for the Armston killings. No one had ever engraved bible scriptures on the back of dead bodies before. Yes, Henry was right, there was always the chance that this was a copy-cat. But Bill knew it wasn't. This had to be their man. This was apt to be the same man responsible for the death of a dozen innocent males in Washington DC in just the last three years. This had to be Cutter. Only giving the name "Cutter" because of his MO.

If Agent Bill Gleeson was a high school girl he would have shrieked. He could feel a sensation of excitement crawl up his latissimus dorsi and up his spine, settling at the base of his neck.

Agent Henry Partridge rose to his feet and tugged at both the lapels of his blazer. "You have twenty-four hours." He was out of the conference room.

If Bill's guesses were right he needed on a couple of minutes to prove that this was their guy. Although, it was a wonder how Cutter—if it was really him—had gotten out of Washington, and gone practically across the entire country to Arizona without the FBI sighting him once. And why now? why Arizona?

Something must have drawn him. His fingers were already pounding hard on the keys of his cell phone as he walked out of the room, headed for his office.

The Armston Police Service picked up on the second ring. "Armston Police Service, how can we help you?"

"This is Bill Gleeson with the FBI in Washington. Put me through to whoever's in charge."

"Right away, Sir,"

Bill entered his office and took a seat behind his desk, cell phone in one hand, and his other hand slamming keys on his computer.

"Darren Savage here," A voice came over the phone.

"Are you in charge?"

"Since the Chief was killed. Yes."

"Good,"

Within the hour Bill had all he needed. It was Cutter. He was in Arizona looking for his thirteenth victim.

At first the Acting Chief of the APS, didn't know what Bill was talking about. But on mention of the name Cutter, details spilled out his mouth like a cup of milk tipped over. The Armston Police had sent him pictures of the four victims, their former Chief included.

The alias, 'Cutter' was ever so meticulously carved on their cheeks. Bill hissed.

He had gotten all he could get out of the Acting Chief of the Armston Police. According to Darren, the killer was after one Ricky Platt—a detective with the APS.

Bill typed the name into Google search. There was only one result he was interested in—Platt, Ricky. Armston, Arizona. With a mouse click a new page loaded with a passport photograph of the hapless target of the serial killer.

He scrolled down the page, squinting as he read the letters off the flat monitor. Then he stopped. His eyes widened and a lump rose to his throat.

"That can't be," He whispered to himself. "That can't be,"

He hit the ctrl+p command on his keyboard and his deskjet printer began sucking in papers like a vacuum cleaner sucking up dirt, printing the result of his search in the fast draft setting.

Minutes later, Bill found himself, feet clacking hard on the marble floor, on his way to the office at the end of the hall—Agent Henry's office. He barged in without a knock in all his excitement and exigency but had to pause when he found that Henry had a guest; Agent Andrea Summers.

They both turned to look at him—Henry, from across his desk, and Andrea, twisting her torso to get a good look at the intruder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

"Nonsense," Henry waved. "What've you got?" he asked, eyes fixed on the mound of paper in his hand.

"It's our guy."

"Cutter,"

"The very same. He is in Arizona looking for his thirteenth victim...or in this case, his seventeenth victim"

"Why Armston? why Arizona? why now? He's been out of the scene for months! Why would he travel over two-thousand miles just to kill one man?" Henry beckoned on Bill to hand him the papers.

Bill looked at Andrea. She didn't say anything. She only looked at the men as they exchanged words.

"You're not going to believe this," Bill started saying as he handed the papers over to Henry. Henry began perusing them. "A couple of weeks back one Ricky Platt was commended for diverting a major terror threat in the state of Arizona. According to officials, one Isaias Shafer had threatened to blow up different government establishments in the state."

"And this links to Cutter how?" Henry was still perusing the pages, flipping through the mound.

Bill stuck his hands the moment Henry had flipped to a particular page. "That's how," He pointed at Ricky's passport photograph. "He was all over the news at that time. Cutter must have seen him on TV."

Agent Henry looked at Bill. "Get on the next flight to Arizona. We'll arrange a unit from the Arizona field office to pick you up at the airport."

"Yes Sir."

Henry returned his gaze to Ricky's passport photo. "Son of a gun."
11

"Here," Father David said, handing Ricky an energy bar. "You're going to need this."

"Going to? I've barely had anything to eat the last couple of days." Ricky received the bar and tore the wrap open. He shoved the crown of the snack into his mouth.

"So it means they don't know what killed the Chief?" Father David tried to clarify.

"No, it means that they know what killed him, they just don't know how. He died of a cardiac arrest. How a man with a healthy past dies one night of a cardiac arrest is the tricky question."

It was getting to night, and the cathedral was darkening with the same tempo as the outside world was. Oddly enough, St. Sebastian Cathedral felt more serene at this time of day, not eerie.

"These visions of yours may be the only key to stopping this man. It would be good if you can stay there till you find out whom he is, put an end to all of this."

It wasn't like he could influence the happenings in his visions, but Father David was on to something. Even though Ricky left a miniscule part of his brain to believe that his visions were actually more accurate than the real world, he had to listen to Father David. After all, at this point, any of the worlds could be real. He wanted to see it that way.

Nevertheless, Ricky had noticed something. In this world, Cutter was essentially a ghost. No one had seen him. No one had heard him speak. No prints and no fibers were picked up from the locations he had been. He could have as well been a ghost. He was like the wind; No one could tell where it was coming from or where it was going to. They could only feel its effect.

But in his visions, Cutter had spoken with him. No one had seen him and there were no clues as to his whereabouts, but Cutter had spoken with him. He was contacting him. Even though it had happened only once, Ricky had to believe it would keep happening. It might be the only way to track him. That, or waiting for Cutter to slip up. But it might have to be the former, just for the simple fact that Cutter didn't seem the type who'll slip up. He was much too thorough. For one man to be able to kill four people in one world and kidnap the family of a detective in the other world spelled nothing but genius.

"All right." Ricky said as he tossed the energy bar's wrapper on the floor. He clapped and rubbed his palms against each other. "Let's do this." He walked over to the altar and fell on his knees, spreading his arms wide, like someone might in anticipation of a bear hug.

~

Father David watched Ricky spread out his arms and begin his ritual for the second time in two days. It was actually the third time, but this was the second time he was present when Ricky engaged in it. Ricky had never had to do this so often.

He felt for the man. He had lost his wife and daughter to a killer who practically didn't exist. Now he was getting delirious; thinking that his visions were more accurate than the real world. But one couldn't blame him. His family was still alive in his visions. Any sensible person would prefer to be where the slightest glimmer of hope was.

"God, you are in here. Who is Cutter?" Ricky said under his breath. His body jerked again. Just like the last time. He began convulsing.

Father David was at his side in a flash and eased Ricky's body down just as he began to crumple. He lay Ricky's body down gracefully.

"Easy,"

Ricky was out. Just like the last time.

Father David took a few steps back and studied the man. Ricky's chest rose and fell rhythmically to the tune of sleep. The Catholic Father shook his head in incredulity. He couldn't imagine that in the head of this man lying limp on the cathedral floor another world existed. One with so much detail as to put his protégé in doubt as to the facts presented to him here.

He glanced at the floor and saw the wrap of the energy bar Ricky had consumed before he blacked out. Father David picked it up and tossed it into a bin in the corner before heading to a pew for a seat.

He opened his bible and began to read.

~

To say that Ricky was shocked would have been a lie. He was merely entranced. He wasn't expecting any difference. Again, it was like he was a camera man, manning a camera, shooting a movie.

For what seemed like nothing more than a second he saw himself inert, on his knees, arms spread-eagle. But then it was as though someone hit the play switch and his body jerked back.

It dawned on Ricky that this was a vision. This couldn't be real. Him watching him?

He watched himself shake his head in disbelief. So it didn't work. Even in his vision he couldn't see who Cutter was. But God was real. He had to believe that at least.

Since he was back here again, he would watch. It wasn't like he had a choice, anyway.

~

Ricky jerked back. He shook his head in disbelief.

Impossible.

He hadn't seen Cutter. He had asked for a revelation of the man responsible for the abduction of Vivian and Nicky but had gotten nothing. For the first time, God had failed him. This hadn't happened before. Was this a test?

He slowly opened his eyes and stood before looking around. Father David was gone. Strange. Father David never left him alone whenever he tried to see a criminal.

Ricky glanced back at the pew that Father David favored. It was vacant save the Father's bible. He edged for the pew and picked the bible. Did Father David have an emergency that prompted him to leave without a words notice? He hadn't even taken his bible.

"Father!" Ricky called out. His voice echoed around the sanctuary. "Father David?" but there was no one there.

Ricky dusted his clothes as his cell phone began to ring.

"Platt." Ricky said, phone pressed against his ears.

"Where are you?" The officer on the other side of the phone said.

"St. Sebastian. Do you have anything for me?

"Yeah, we ran tests on a tire track we came across in the Armston Mall parking lot,"

Ricky was impatient. "And?"

"We've been able to identify what type of vehicle the abductor was driving. It's a 1983 Volkswagen T3 Transporter. No one saw it pull up, and no one saw it drive out. The security cameras didn't pick a thing so we don't have a plate number. But at least we know what to look for."

"Thanks." Ricky hung up. Now they were getting somewhere. No matter how ghostly a culprit was, they always did slip. Now they had a vehicle to place an APB on. But one thing still baffled Ricky. Where was Father David?

Ricky gave Father David's number a ring. But that's all it did, ring. There was no answer.

Ricky could smell trouble a mile off. And even now he feared the worst. He headed out of the cathedral with one destination on his mind; Father David's house.

~

A lead. This was the best news Ricky had heard in days. He watched the entire phone call with rapt attention. The officer on the other end of the phone had told him what car model Cutter had used to carry out his abduction. A 1983 Volkswagen T3. Just as Ricky watched himself enter his vehicle, he had a thought.

Cutter had killed his family. Yet the same Cutter had kidnapped his family here. There was a link between his visions and the real world. Then there was the chat he had with Father David at his house a few hours ago; the talk that led him into thinking that his visions were more accurate than the real world. Was it possible that Cutter owned the same VW van in the real world?

It was very likely. He lived in the same house in both realms, didn't he? St. Sebastian's cathedral stood in both realms. The Armston mall was only a stone throw from his house in both realms.

Cutter terrorized him in both realms.

So why wouldn't Cutter drive the same car in both worlds. This was a welcomed development.

Now he wanted to see what had happened to Father David.

~

Ricky shut off the engine of his car and stared at the Father's house. All the lights were off. Two black windows stood fixed into the wall, staring at him like the empty eye sockets of a skull. No sign of life whatsoever within. The cool gentle night breeze welcomed Ricky as he exited his vehicle. He stood beside his car for a moment before braving a step closer to the house.

Every step closer brought a deeper sensation of evil, nevertheless, Ricky inched for the conservative residence.

The shriek of the bell sounded extremely loud this quiet night. "Father, it's Ricky," Ricky said, looking around as if someone might be nearby. He pressed the bell again, and when no answer came from within Ricky placed his hand on the door knob.

Ricky barely pushed the door in and it swung open. It wasn't locked. It wasn't even closed. This couldn't be good. He placed a foot in the dark house and called out again. "Father David!"

What if the man was sleeping? It was night after all. Oh, guess he had forgotten to lock his door before he went to bed.

He flicked the switch beside the door frame and the sudden flood of light contracted his pupils. He blinked a couple.

That was when the end table caught his attention. Four feet away, a paper rested indolently atop the table. A paper with one word written on it.

Ricky?

~

The Ricky Ricky watched seemed bemused as to why a paper with his name penned on it lay on a table in Father David's house. He was wondering whether the note was from Father David to him. He didn't know that the note was from Cutter.

Ricky recognized the hand writing. It was the same one engraved into the flesh of dead bodies where he was coming from—Vivian and Nicky inclusive.

Cutter's note in Father David's house. That was like finding a sermon preached by the devil at a local church.

If Cutter had found his way into Father David's house, there was no way the Catholic clergy could be alright. At worst, the Father David in the visions was already dead. At best he would have been abducted by Cutter as well.

~

Ricky was already by the table, handling the paper. 'Ricky' was inscribed on the paper in bold red. He unfolded the paper to reveal a note;

You took my father, I took yours. Two wrongs don't make a right...

Now it does.

Find us Ricky.

You have till mid-night

A tremble settled on Ricky's hands, causing the note to judder. This couldn't be happening. Ricky dropped the note on the end table where he found it and proceeded to check every single room in the house. They all came up empty.

It was true. Cutter had Father David.

Ricky fell to his knees as a tear broke out of his right eye. This couldn't be happening again. Cutter undoubtedly knew that Father David wasn't Ricky's natural father. But he also knew that was what he represented.

Ricky's surname wasn't initially Platt. It was Smith. He was the son of a blue collar worker, Dillon Smith. Dillon was a miner who could hardly keep his family alive on his salary. His dead body was found in the attic of their home one evening, a cup of spilled prussic acid beside it.

Even now Ricky could smell the bitter-almond odor as strongly as he did that day. The image of the dead man in the attic had hunted Ricky's sleep for years. Initially he hadn't a clue who the man he kept seeing in the attic in his dreams was. It wasn't until he read and article in the news that the frightening knowledge of the man's identity perched on his brain. It was his dad.

Ricky was adopted by a fairly old couple known as the Platts and had undergone a change of name from Ricky Smith to Ricky Platt. They were the perfect American family. At least until they were killed for witnessing a kidnapping of a little girl. That was shortly before Ricky got into college. He was already close to Father David who took him under his wings as a third father in under two decades.

The sorrow Ricky felt, quickly morphed into anger. If Cutter thought he was going to let him have Father David, he was gravely mistaken. There was no time to sorrow.

Ricky rose to his feet and checked his watch. Passed ten. He needed to move. He needed to know who this killer was, and he won't stop till he had that knowledge.

~

Cutter had driven fifteen minutes out of town in his blue Volkswagen van, whistling no definite tune in particular. Whistling had its ways of keeping you calm, and that was what he needed now. Calm.

The night was dark. The roads were deserted. The hum of the engine, the chirping crickets and his whistling were all that could be heard.

Even the poor man at the back made no sound. He was still out cold. The Catholic Father. Father David. So much for the statement touch not my anointed and do my prophet no harm. This prophet was going to get it real soon.

Once again he had proved God incompetent. No. Once again God couldn't make good his promises. One man having all the power he willed himself to have was—

There were red and blue flashes a few meters ahead, lighting the dark road. Road block. But instead of fear, Cutter pushed the metal to the floor. The Father still lay like a sack of potatoes in the back. Yet he was driving head on for this cop. That was the advantage of power; you could do whatever you pleased, whenever you please. Kind of like God. The revelation struck him as shocking. In a way he was like God. Both of them had all the power they could possibly hope for.

The cop was waving his flashlight at the approaching van.

Cutter pulled over and took one last glance at the limp body lying in the back through the wire window. The Father was still out. Good. If the Father had come to, getting past this cop would be a little harder than necessary. If the cop suspected any movement in the back of the van he could radio for back up before Cutter could kill him.

Another advantage Cutter had was the fact that the cop was the only one on the road. He didn't have a partner.

"Nice night, Sir," the cop said, craning his neck in a fit to examine the interior of the blue van heading away from town at a quarter after ten in the night.

"Sure is." Cutter replied.

"Mind if I take a look round back?"

These were the sort of questions Cutter disliked. Regardless of Cutter's answer, the man would still take a look. Why ask in the first place?

"Not at all," Cutter knew how this would end; with the man dead on the tarmac. He hoped that his knowledge wasn't written all over his face. He exited the van and began a slow walk beside the van. He stopped abruptly.

"Any problem?"

Cutter swiveled around. "You."

The Armston police officer's pupils dilated and he crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll stuffed with lead.

Cutter didn't regard the dead officer. He stepped over the dead body, entered the van and drove off. The fear that he commanded was implausible. The officer's heart must beat rapidly till it almost exploded. He couldn't stand it. No one could stand Cutter's power. Hollywood should make a movie about him, maybe call it Cutter's gaze.

~

Vivian Platt rattled the restraints, trying desperately to break free. The chains clanged as she let go. It was hopeless.

She stared at Nicky. Nicky stared back. The little girl stifled a sob.

"Come here," Vivian said, arms wide open.

The little girl crawled over to her mother, who wrapped her around in her arms. Vivian brushed Nicky's disheveled hair and gave her head a peck.

"Everything will be fine, Sweetie." Vivian placed her chin on Nicky's head. The chains on their legs were attached to the cement flooring. There was no way to pull it out. But the cement wasn't cracked, and judging from its overall outlook it was only applied recently. But that didn't mean anything, after all it was dry. Stone dry.

The moon light reflected off something in the corner. Vivian blinked and craned her neck above her daughter's head to get a good look. There was a third chain. Cutter was expecting someone else. Vivian prayed desperately that it wasn't meant for her husband, Ricky. He was their only hope now. Being in captive by the same man who he was supposed to free them from would only gravely complicate matters.

It was a wonder that he hadn't come for them yet. Did that mean he couldn't uncover Cutter's identity? or did that mean it was too late. The popping sound of gravel outside pierced through the night. Nicky must have heard it too; she stopped whimpering and looked at the door.

A thud came from the other side of the door, followed by the slow heavy foot steps of a man. The door came open and a silhouette of a man stood in the doorway backlit by the moon, a man's body hanging loosely over his right shoulder.

Vivian's gut tied in a knot. The first thought that ran through her mind was that that was her husband hanging over Cutter's shoulder. But when Cutter stepped into the room she knew that this man was too old to be her husband. It was in fact Father David. Ricky's mentor and friend. She gasped.

~

Ricky staggered into St. Sebastian's Cathedral, gaining his footing after bumping into the door. His world was swimming around him. But he had only one thing on his mind; Cutter's identity. There was no way he was leaving the cathedral without the man's identity.

He crashed to the floor once he reached the altar, and this time instead of having his arms spread eagle he was on all-fours, desperate. Weeping.

"God," his voice quavered. "I need to see this Cutter. Help me."

~

Ricky had expected a pause, but there was no pause this time around. Instead, he was seeing—mentally—what the Ricky in his visions was seeing.

~

Ricky's vision clouded with grey smog. Then it was like a wind began blowing the smog away. He was seeing a vision, an open vision. He had those every time he was about to be revealed the identity of a malefactor. But never had he had one with such a powerful and malignant aura.

The smog cleared unnervingly slowly to reveal a man. This was Cutter. The only problem was the image was a silhouette one. There were no details Ricky could hold on to. But he quickly did what he was trained to do. He noticed the man's towering frame. He noticed the long arms hanging limply by his side. And from the look of the image his hair was scruffy.

That was all he could get before the image vanished. He was back in the cathedral. And his heart was slamming against his ribs too fast. He could feel his pulse in his ears. His vision blurred and he became dizzy.

~

Ricky woke up and twirled his arms to make sure he had full control of them. He did. He was back. Awake and in the world were his family had been killed.

Father David approached. "Back so soon?"

Ricky stared at the approaching Father.

"What happened?" Father David asked, now only three paces from Ricky.

Ricky stood, his head clouded. "I saw him."

"Cutter?"

Ricky shook his head to try and get it clear. "Yep! Cutter. Though it was a silhouette. Didn't get much of any details. But hey," Ricky turned to face the father "it's a start."

"So you had to see a vision in your vision before you could see this man?"

Ricky's head had started clearing now. "Pretty much. Yes." He walked rather unsteadily and sat on the pew Father David had been sitting on while he was in his vision. Then he remembered. They had also identified the vehicle the man had used to abduct his family. He was on his feet again.

"What?" Father David asked.

"1983 Volkswagen T3 transporter," Ricky's face brightened.

"Sorry?"

"I got a call from the office. They identified the car used in the kidnapping as a 1983 Volkswagen T3 transporter." He was pacing now. "Father, everything in my vision is the same as it is here. What if..." yes, more ifs "...Cutter drives the same car here?"

Father David seemed to have been considering the possibility.

Ricky stared into the eyes of the Father and then he remembered something else. The man standing before him had been abducted in his vision. It was the reason he had even dashed for the cathedral in the first place. He froze at the revelation.

"Are you okay?" Father David squinted.

"Cutter has you,"
12

Detective Ricky stood with hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black trench coat. One day every man would have to die, but Ricky didn't know that Chief Bob Delay would be gone so soon.

What troubled Ricky wasn't just the fact that the Chief was dead, but that the Chief was killed because of him. He wasn't just killed because of him, a message had even been etched on his back. A message to Ricky.

Ricky walked away from the ceremony as the coffin was lowered into the six-feet deep opening. Rest in peace, Chief.

Ricky had left Father David behind, he was still conducting the funeral. The man was busy conducting a funeral here, whereas he had been kidnapped in his visions. Considering the whole thing just made his head ache, he tried not to focus on it too much.

But a question kept gnawing at his brain. If Father David was kidnapped in his vision, would he die here as the case was with Vivian and Nicky? No. The fact that he was kidnapped there didn't mean death here. After all, Chief Delay was dead here but still alive and free in his visions.

No matter how much his head ached, and no matter how much he tried not to think of the whole thing, he just couldn't.

Ricky angled for his Toyota. He relaxed on the side of the car, viewing the funeral from a distance. This was his fault. And yet he didn't know how it was his fault. Cutter still hadn't made it clear why he was haunting him.

Moments later, the sea of people draped in black, spread to all directions. It was finished. They were leaving.

Darren Savage, the new police chief, was the last to leave Bob Delay's grave. He had always seen the man as a father even though he was his boss. He approached Ricky, and Ricky noticed that his eyes were more glassy than usual.

"Good man." Darren said, in reference to the former chief.

Ricky moaned in reply.

"We won't let this stand. Cutter must be found."

Cutter. Yes Cutter. He had a lead from his vision. At this point any lead would be appreciated. Any lead would be rushed at like an oasis in the desert. But considering the source...

"Darren, I think I have a lead." But was it really a lead? Could he really tell this man before him, that an officer in a vision had told him the model of car Cutter drove? But he had already said he had a lead, and now Darren was looking at him like he was the Messiah himself.

"Do tell. We could use anything right about now."

If only he knew what Ricky's anything was.

Ricky looked across the field to Father David who dipped his head as if to give Ricky the go ahead. He returned his gaze to Darren. "I think Cutter might be driving a 1983 Volkswagen Transporter." He said it quickly. Nervously. He was considering were the news was coming from.

"That isn't any normal lead, Ricky. Having the vehicle this guy drives is practically nailing this sucker."

Oh, it wasn't any normal lead. How right you are, Darren. How Right you are.

"Can I ask where you got this information?" Darren asked, face lit up at the probability that there was a glimmer of hope after all.

Ricky hesitated. He knew the rest of the Armston Police Service had always considered him a religious man, but admitting to the fact that a police officer had actually relayed the information to him by phone in a vision might seem like lunacy.

Nevertheless, Ricky answered. "In a vision,"

Darren blinked once. Twice. "You're kidding."

Ricky just wagged his head.

"What am I supposed to do with that kind of information?" Darren was candidly confounded. "Alert the force that we are looking for the product of a man's vision."

The look on Ricky's face answered before he did. "Yes?" was that meant to come out as a question?

"Come on Ricky, I know you've lost your family because of this man but pull it together, man. I can't place an APB for a VW because you had a..." He arched two of his index fingers on both hands. "...vision."

Darren was implying that he wasn't lucid. And now he was looking around, probably making sure no one was overhearing their ever so awkward conversation.

"Hear me out, Darren." Ricky had to explain, hoping that after his explanation he would have won Darren over. "I've been having these visions since I was in college. All I have to do is say a little prayer, and I see offenders. I put a kid in jail for drug pushing in college by this method. You remember Betty Cook?"

Darren nodded. "The one whose mother was killed after going for groceries,"

"Right. I saw the killer in a similar vision. Even of recent, the case with Isaias Shafer, I saw him. Why do you think I've never lost a case on the force? Better still, why do you think no offender has escaped me for more than forty-eight hours?"

Darren had to be considering this, because his hand was on his lips and he drilled Ricky with an intense stare. "God can do that?"

"God can do anything, even that."

"So these visions of yours, it's like another world?" Darren asked cautiously.

"Only of recent. For some reason I wasn't able to see Cutter the way I saw other offenders in the past. Instead I got thrown into..." He tossed his arms about. "...like this dream land. Everything here is over there. The only difference is Cutter killed my family here, but he kidnapped them over there. The last time I was at St. Sebastian cathedral I was looking for Cutter's identity. In my vision I had a vision. I saw Cutter, but only in silhouette form."

"You had a vision in your vision?"

"Yes. I know it sounds strange—"

~

Darren couldn't stomach what Ricky was saying. Could he really place an APB on a vehicle reported by a man who saw visions in his vision? But this was Ricky. He had never lost a case, he was right about that.

But Darren couldn't tell if this was the same Ricky that hadn't lost a case, or the Ricky that had lost his wife and daughter.

Then again this was Ricky Platt. The Omniscient detective.

"I know it sounds strange—"

Darren raised his hand up to stop Ricky. The decision he was about to take could end his career. He had heard of Psychic detectives, but Ricky wasn't psychic—he was a Christian for crying out loud.

Darren spoke. "I'll do it."

Ricky seemed confounded. "You will?"

He was already placing a call. "Officer Baines, I've got information about Cutter. He's likely driving a 1983 VW T3 Transporter."

Baines' voice came over the cell phone. "Should I alert all officers?"

"Precisely,"

~

Ricky could hardly believe this. Darren had actually subscribed to his proposal, and rather quickly, too.

Pretty soon they would find the vehicle, hopefully with Cutter. But then there was the fact that he had gotten the information from his vision. It wasn't tangible. What if his vision didn't tally with the real world?

But everything was the same except for events. He had to believe this would work. That was the only way.
13

Armston was a very small, sleepy town compared to the hustle-and-bustle of the capital city. Their flight from Washington had been a relatively smooth one.

The Chevrolet Suburban roared as it headed into Armston, occupied by four agents with the FBI—two from Arizona, and two from Washington. Agent Bill Gleeson and Agent Andrea Summers sat at the back of the huge black SUV. Agent Ray Ferland, from Phoenix, steered the wheel, while Agent Nancy West (also from Phoenix) rode shotgun.

They had all ridden in the Suburban in total quiet, perusing files and sheets of various sizes of paper. They had consumed so much information regarding Cutter that by the time they were all in the Armston PD office, they only needed to speak with the cops there so as to get acquainted and relay all the information they had about the killer.

"His real name is still unknown." Bill said. "One thing we do know is that he goes after people who look like that." Bill pointed at Ricky who was sitting with his fingers interlocked.

Agent Andrea stepped forward, drawing papers from a folder she cradled near her bosom. "His MO isn't entirely known, or understood, rather. He is known for occasionally carving uncanny messages on the skin of his victims. But all twelve of his victims were killed by a cardiac arrest according to the medical examiner's office in Washington." She placed the papers on the oval-shaped mahogany table. They were pictures of Cutter's victims. Twelve of them.

Bill saw Ricky rise from his seat and make his way to the table.

"Initially we thought the man injected his victims with some sort of toxin that created a severe case of SCA, Sudden Cardiac Arrest. But considering the health condition of most of his victims, we were forced to rescind that theory."

"Wow! They really do look like me." Ricky said, staring at some pictures he held in both hands.

Andrea stepped closer to the table staring at Ricky. "Dark brown curly hair, chiseled face, innocent brown eyes. Just like you."

Bill cut in. "Our guess is that someone, who you are the splitting image of, did something psychologically damaging to him in the past. A teacher, father, relative. Whenever he sees someone like you...he rids the planet of whoever it is."

"Why Ricky?" It was the first thing Darren had said since they commenced the meeting. "How did he get to know about Ricky all the way from Washington?"

Henry stepped forward, hands folded behind his back. "Our guess is this; when Ricky forfended the terror threat posed by Isaias Shafer a couple of weeks back, he was honored by the state. His picture was on the news. Cutter must have seen it, and after keeping a low profile, he journeyed here to get rid of you." It was pretty straight forward but Henry didn't have any other way to say it.

There was a dense quiet in the room all of a sudden at that revelation.

~

Ricky took it in with silence. He had been haunted by a maniac because he resembled someone? Vivian and Nicky, the loveliest people on earth, had been killed because he resembled someone? A civilian, even the former Chief of Police, Delay, had been killed because of this resemblance.

What was he supposed to do? Change the way he looked? He hadn't chosen his looks. He stared at the oblong table, littered by the faces of a dozen men who met their untimely death because they looked like someone; because they looked like him.

"So far, what've you got?" Bill broke Ricky's chain of thoughts. He was addressing Darren.

"Uh...Well..." Darren stumbled. "We haven't really got much at the moment."

"Might I remind you, that while you haven't got much, Cutter is out there getting more—victims that is." Bill cut him short.

That was when Darren spilled the beans. "We do have an APB on a vehicle we suspect to be Cutter's."

No, Darren! Don't tell him that! Ricky wanted to pull Darren aside and remind him that he had gotten the information from a phone call in his visions. It wasn't substantial evidence. This was just going to give way to a barrage of unanswerable questions. He shot Darren a stare, but Darren wasn't looking.

"Well that's a start." Bill placed his palms on the table. "What type of vehicle is this?"

"A Volkswagen T3 Transporter. 1983 model."

Bill's questions kept rolling like boulders tossed from the top of an alp, just as Ricky suspected they might. "Who reported this information? Where was it last seen? And why are you so sure it belongs to Cutter?"

Darren must have realized now that he made a mistake telling Agent Bill Gleeson about the car because he was staring at Ricky now.

That's right, Darren! I reported it. It wasn't seen! It left tire marks at Armston mall after Cutter used it to kidnap my wife and daughter—who are actually dead.

Bill's eyes were now on Ricky. "Did he report it?"

"Well—" Darren started saying.

"Sort of," Ricky said.

"Sort of?" Bill arched his left brow.

Ricky couldn't lie to Bill Gleeson. Not because he was a law enforcer sworn to uphold the truth, but because he was a detective and he understood the game inside-out. He knew that what he would say—if he were to lie—could be looked into by the FBI, four agents that he counted. Agent Bill, Agent Andrea, Agent Ray and Agent Nancy.

"I had a vision." He opted for the truth. No one seemed to have heard. Either that or they didn't believe him. Darren hung his head. Ricky's joints stiffened. "I've been having strange visions since this nightmare began. In my vision Cutter kidnapped my wife and my daughter at the Mall. The APS got the tire prints of the car and found out it was a 1983 VW van." He stopped. It all seemed too much for them to ingest. Andrea was gawking.

"And you placed an APB on the vehicle based on this testimony?"

"Agent Gleeson—"

"We're taking over this case!" Bill fumed.

Darren sighed.

"We are taking over this case." Bill repeated. "I want Ricky protected at all times. I want his house under surveillance twenty-five hours a day! I want every report filed on this case submitted to me. If a dog so much as pees on his front lawn, I wanna hear about it before you..." he was pointing at Darren, "...do anything about it. Heck, you don't do anything about anything without my order. Clear?"

"Like a glass." Darren replied.

"And you," Bill faced Ricky.

Ricky said nothing. He just stared. He knew telling them that the information about the van had actually come from his vision would be a snag.

Bill was pointing at him now. "You're off the case, and under protection from now on. We only call you when there is a direct message from Cutter to you!" There was a pause. Then Bill sparked. "What are we standing around like light poles for? I want that twenty-five hour surveillance like yesterday."

People started moving, muttering, scooping up papers, and making phone calls.

Ricky heard Bill Gleeson mumble something about visions under his breath. But it didn't matter, he knew what he saw and he knew what he heard. And he was going to believe that Cutter drove a 1983 VW T3 Transporter. Period.

They had held Ricky in the Armston Police Service office for a good extra hour interrogating him. For once he actually had a hint of what suspects felt like under scrutiny, though he wasn't being interrogated as a criminal, but as a victim.

The topic of his visions had come up only once, but Bill waved it off, saying his mind had opened up to another world were his family was still alive to deliver some sort of false hope. They continued with the interrogation process for twenty minutes after that then Ricky was finally free to go home—under supervision that is.

By the time Ricky got home, his house had been combed by the FBI. They came up with nothing. His house was clean. That was the report Ricky heard thirty minutes before stepping into his house. He had counted at least three unmarked vehicles with agents and cops in them on his way here. All this for him.

Ricky had stayed in his living room for hours watching the news. The town had gone quiet since Cutter's arrival. Less people paraded themselves on the sidewalk. The mall was visited less. Cutter was practically mowing the city down with fear.

It was dark now and Ricky had made up his mind to sleep in his bed this night. He hadn't been able to do that since Cutter had killed Vivian. But tonight instead of fear, he missed his wife. He missed the touch of her hand. He missed the smell of her hair. He missed the feeling of her warm lips against his.

Ricky crossed over to the window and drew the curtain a little. A black sedan was parked a few meters from his house. How long was this going to go on? How long was Cutter going to be out there?

Ricky strolled down the corridor in his house, flipping the light switches off. Then he came to the door to Nicky's room. His little angel. Even now he could almost hear her piercing giggle echo through the building. He opened the door and peered into her room.

What was that on Nicky's bed? Paper.

He flipped the switch on. Now he could see his name inscribed on the paper in that familiar hand writing. Cutter.

But how? How did Cutter get in with all the surveillance going on outside? Ricky's pulse surged. He wasn't safe. Not even the FBI could protect him from this evil.

He crossed over to the lone window sitting on the wall at the far side and peeked outside. Nothing but black. Surely Cutter couldn't be a natural man.

He needed to get word out to Agent Bill.

Four are gone, more will follow...

Who you love most, FIRST, and who you love least, LAST

Ricky's head throbbed. This was all getting too much. He was seated on the same couch he had slept in the night before, wearing a light blue button down shirt and grey slacks. Agents Bill and Andrea were pacing before him only moments after he had alerted them.

From all deliberation, there was no way for Cutter to have entered Ricky's house without being spotted by one of the Agents or cops around the perimeter. But from all indications, he had done just that.

The house was combed from top to bottom earlier in the day and the FBI had said the house was clean. When did Cutter gain entrance?

"What do you love the most?" Bill finally asked.

Ricky didn't have to think up an answer to that one. But his answer confused him. "My wife and my daughter," He croaked.

"That's not right. That doesn't fit into the puzzle. They were his first victims. Could he still be referring to them?"

"I don't think so," Ricky just realized that his voice was quavering. He cleared his throat. "He said four are gone, Vivian and Nicky are the first of those four."

"What does he mean by 'who you love most, first'?" Bill was pacing again. He stopped. "After Vivian and Nicky, who comes next?" He looked at Ricky.

Ricky's eyes thinned. He couldn't arrange his thoughts properly. People were going to die based on how much he loved them. His heart rapped against his chest so hard that he felt the FBI agents could surely hear it.

"Ricky, we need you to do this."

Ricky cracked his knuckles and tried to focus his mind. But nothing came. It was too clouded. What kind of sick and twisted game was this?

Ricky's heart pumped so hard that he thought that this time around it would most definitely explode. He rose to his feet and hung his head quickly—a way of calming himself.

The last three days Ricky had known fear like he'd never known in times past. With an excuse he left the living room for the kitchen where he could get a cold drink of water. The glass was half empty when he realized the only person that could calm him down now. Father David.

There was a phone on the kitchen counter. He reached for it and dialed the Father's home number. It rang and rang until it rang through to voice mail.

"Bless you! You've reached the phone of Father David Matthews, I'm not available right now, but feel free to leave your message after the beep and I'll return your call."

Beep!

"It's Ricky. Call me when you get this. I really can't discuss this over the phone. When can I see you?" Ricky sighed. "Call me." He dropped the receiver in its cradle. Then he stared at the clock and then at the phone again. "That's not right."

He ambled out of the kitchen and into the living room, where he found that Bill and Andrea had listened to his phone call. He didn't mind, they were just doing their job.

Ricky picked his cell off a glass table. This time he called Father David's cell phone.

Voicemail.

Ricky spun to face Bill. "I think Father David is in trouble."

~

Ricky explained to the FBI Agents the reason why he felt the Father was in trouble. Bill wasn't going to act on the assumptions of a man who saw visions. One reason Ricky had for thinking—or was it knowing?—that Father David was in trouble was that he had been kidnapped by Cutter in his visions. There was no proof to his theory. All he knew was that his family had been kidnapped by Cutter in his visions. But they had also been killed in reality by the same man.

He couldn't be sure about this, after all, there was no report that Mr. Wilcox and Chief Delay had been kidnapped there before they were killed here. But that was the case for his family. That could very well be the case for the Father—who he considered family.

Ricky took a second to assimilate his thoughts. He did consider Father David as family. When Bill had asked him who he loved most earlier on, his mind was clouded by the thought of the ones he loved the most. His family.

But now that he thought that Father David was in danger, he realized that he also considered Father David as family. He was the only thing remotely related to a father figure in Ricky's life since the passing of both his biological father and adoptive father.

Ricky mulled over all this in only a couple of seconds before he spoke out. "It's Father David. Father David's next."

"Are you saying he's the one you love the most?" Bill stepped up.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. Cutter is going after Father David."

"Do you know where he is?"

"I don't know," Ricky shook his head in a fraught attempt at clearing the cloud that choked it now. "St. Sebastian cathedral," then he added "maybe."

Bill reached for a radio. "I want two units at the St. Sebastian cathedral, ASAP!" He edged for the door.

Ricky grabbed a coat. "I'm coming with."

"You are coming nowhere!" Bill was pointing at Ricky. "You are staying here with Andrea till I get back, then we can sort out this love priority mess!" He was out with the door slamming shut behind him.

This had to be wrong. Father David was in danger and all he could do was wait for word from a portentous FBI Agent all the way from Washington.

Ricky tried pacing. He tried sitting—his feet tapping the floor boards rapidly. He tried staring out the window. But none of those activities seemed to calm him down. Now he sat, TV blinking the news that was being delivered by Armston's Channel 5.

Ricky couldn't just stay in his house doing nothing. He needed to get out. There was no way Agent Andrea would agree to that. He'll need a distraction.

Ricky was shocked at the fact that he was actually considering sneaking out of a house that was being monitored by both the FBI and the Armston PD. If Cutter could sneak in, surely he could sneak out. Besides it was the right thing to do. Sitting here and pummeling himself while Father David was in mortal danger was the wrong thing to do. But first he'll need a distraction.

Like an answer from God, the Armston killings came on the news. They were talking about the Chief's death.

"Uh...I need some water," Ricky said as he stood.

Andrea acknowledged him with no more than a nod. She was sucked in by the news, probably looking to find any tiny detail they had missed.

Ricky was in the kitchen in a flash. He needed to do this before that news item was up. He snatched a glass cup out of the cabinet that lined the top of the wall. Placing it in the sink, he let water from the faucet gush into the cup at full pressure.

He peered through the kitchen and into the living room. Andrea still listened with rapt attention. He slid the window up. A waft of night breeze hit him in the face. He squeezed himself through the window, glancing into the house to make sure Andrea hadn't heard a thing. Apparently she hadn't.

He was now in his back yard in the cool night. He kept a hunkered position as he moved from tree to tree, hoping not to be spotted by the unmarked car closest to his house. The car sat adjacent to his location. The Agent in it hadn't raised an alarm. That could only mean he hadn't seen him sneak out.

But now the Agent was looking in his direction. Ricky was only concealed by the hedgerow he was crouched behind.

A neighbor's porch light came on right next to the car and the officer turned by reflex. Ricky moved, seizing the opportunity till he was behind the Agent's black sedan. He stood upright and took hastened steps on the sidewalk away from his house, shrouded by the night's blackness—one destination on his mind. Not the cathedral. Father David's home.

He found the door to the Father's house unlocked. Just like his vision. It was a do-over of the terror he had experienced. Déjà vu. Somehow he knew that Father David's kidnapping in his vision would only spell trouble here.

Ricky had told Father David that he was kidnapped by Cutter in his visions. He had told the Father that he was worried as to what implications that could have here. But the clergy man had told him that he was a prophet of God, he could take care of himself and God could take care of him.

Truth be told, if Ricky was to pick a location where he thought Father David might be, he'll pick the cathedral. But on coming across the unlocked door he was beginning to have a rethink.

With a trembling hand, Ricky shoved the door open. A creek from the hinges pierced through the air, exaggerated by the deathly quiet of this night. He flipped the switch at his right, half hoping to see a note from Cutter on the end table, just as in his vision, when light flooded the house.

There was no note, but the scene was the same as in his vision.

Ricky angled for the Father's living room with a snowballing heart rate.

He didn't know if he should keep his mouth shut or call out. "Father?" it came out as barely a whisper.

The moment Ricky got to the entrance of the living room, he could feel his pulse resonate his heart beat in his temples. His world swam and an eerie tingle crawled up his spine.

There, in the living room, hung non other than the righteous Father David limply, neck tied in a noose from the ceiling fan. In bold red, this sentence was etched on his chest;

My God, My God...Why hast thou forsaken me?

Ricky fumbled with a quivering hand before he could pull his phone out of his right pocket. He needed to get Bill Gleeson on the line. They won't find anything at St. Sebastian's. Father David was already dead. And Ricky was looking at his body.

~

Bill Gleeson was headed back when he got the call that'll change his course. The call was from Ricky. He wasn't home—which was frankly a shock. He had called him from the religious man's house. But now they were in Ricky's house again, where Ricky belonged.

It infuriated Bill that Ricky had gone against direct orders given to him by the FBI and had still left his house. What if Cutter was skulking in the dark? That singular act of disobedience had jeopardized the investigation.

But what drove Bill round the bend finally was the fact that Ricky had gotten out of the house without a single Agent spotting him—not even Andrea who stayed with him in the house.

If Ricky had been a character from a Tom Clancy novel, Bill would have expected it. But he was a small town detective, yet he managed to outwit the FBI.

Never-the-less, thanks to Ricky, they had found the Father's body.

Bill could see that the Ricky he had met earlier on was different from the one who sat across from him now. What looked like determination was carved on his face. He didn't seem the same. He looked now—more than ever—ready to hunt this killer down.

"We were right." Bill said. "Cutter is going for what you love most down to what you love the least."

Ricky didn't respond.

"You are the only one who can crack this case open now, Ricky. You know what he wants."

"The force." Ricky said.

"The Armston Police Service?"

"APS. The men and women of the police force. I consider them family, too. Not as close as Father David was to me, but close enough to believe that Cutter would go after them."

Bill was on his feet. He inched for the door then stopped. "Don't leave." With that he left Ricky under the surveillance of even more FBI Agents.

The press in Armston would soon be running stories on the death of St. Sebastian's Priest, Father David. If they discovered that police officers, sworn to protect the people, were being killed themselves, the entire city could be rattled in pandemonium.

He had to stop that from happening.

Ricky had given him some names of people within the Armston Police Force that he felt he had special connections with. Darren Savage was one of them. Cutter had upped his game to a whole new level. Killing cops? It was a game of who's-the-smartest now.

Bill was outwitted in Washington by this killer with a twisted imagination. He was determined not to let history repeat itself in Armston, Arizona.
14

Surveillance was mounted on as many officers as Ricky had suggested they protect. It was an arduous task. Some officers were off for the day, they had to watch those wherever they were, all the while making themselves as inconspicuous as Angels. They needed to be there, working, but invisible to the human eye—Cutter's eyes to be more precise.

The ones at work in the Armston Police building were easier to monitor. Since the FBI had arrived Armston they had been working in the building.

No one could predict specifically when Cutter would strike. He was an erratic fellow.

It was broad day light and no one was expecting Cutter to make any moves. It was against his MO. He took his victims when it was dark. At least that's what Ricky thought. But Bill had said Cutter wasn't exactly operating the same way he did in DC.

In Washington, Cutter's only victims had been those he wanted vengeance on. Those with that one particular look. He didn't go through all the overture of killing loved ones back at Washington. Which was why classifying Ricky as Cutter's thirteenth victim didn't seem quite right. Yet in a way it did.

The man was after Ricky, but in a means to get Ricky he had killed five innocents. This kind of made Ricky the man's seventeenth victim.

Ricky walked through his house, literarily under house arrest. Not for committing a crime, but for his own protection. The eyes of Agent Summer never left him. If he so much as lifted a tea cup, she suspected something—after all, it was his lifting a glass cup last night that aided his escape.

Armston was practically at a stand still from the reports Ricky was getting out of Andrea Summers. The mall was closed. Groceries weren't open. The town was short of being termed a ghost town.

No one wants to be Cutter's next message to Detective Platt. Ricky thought.

Ricky cracked his knuckles as he stared out the window at yet another unmarked vehicle, this one shrouding two agents. He shook his head.

But he couldn't shake the thought that Father David was dead. The entire town had surely heard of the news by now.

The Father's corpse had been taking for an autopsy, ordered by the FBI. But there was no need for all that. The results would surely be the same as the Chief's. Ricky sighed. He had warned the man. He had told him that he was kidnapped in his visions.

The sound of thunder quaked the heavens even though there were no clouds outside.

Ricky spun to face Andrea, who was sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs in the living room, eye balls ceaselessly trailing him. Steam snaked into the air from a little cup of coffee she had set on the floor next to where her right leg would have been had her leg been set on the floor. This was the same FBI Agent he had out-smarted the night before. There was going to be no out-smarting now. She had received a direct order to make sure Ricky stays indoors.

Someone bolted into the house nearly slamming down the door. Agent Ray Ferland from the FBI Phoenix field office. He was breathing hard.

Ricky and Andrea turned to see the panting man at the door. Neither spoke.

"The Armston Police building has just been bombed!" Agent Ray struggled to say.

Bombed? Ricky wanted to ask aloud, but terror had set his jaws in place—his vocal cords too. The question hung in his throat, along with the knot that was in there also.

Andrea was on her feet in a flash. Her right leg knocked the coffee cup over, spilling black coffee on the floor. "What about, Bill?"

That was another question Ricky couldn't get passed his throat. "When," Ricky croaked. He cleared his throat. "When did this happen?"

"Just about a minute, now." Agent Ray said.

The thunder! That was no thunder. It was the blast.

"What about Bill!?" Andrea flared.

"No word yet." Ray said.

Ricky watched Andrea dig frantically for her cell phone in her trouser's front pocket. She hit a key and brought the phone to her ear. Obviously Bill didn't respond because she cursed under her breath, clenched her phone and pressed it against her teeth.

The three law enforcers of various ranks stood for a moment, each waiting for the other to take action. Andrea surged forward, heading for the front door. Ricky followed.

"Whoa! Where do you think you're going? I have orders to keep you in here no matter what."

"You might have lost your boss out there, of which we can't be so sure, but I've lost dozens of colleagues. Friends. Family. I'm not sitting this one out." Ricky glared. So did she.

It was a stand off that lasted only a couple of seconds and ended with Andrea grunting and stepping out of the house. Ricky next. Then Agent Ray.

~

The devastation done to the three-story Armston Police building was epic. Not one glass filled the window spaces. A number of offices within the building were reduced to total nothingness. It was the shock of Ricky's life. This one event immediately made him doubt the tangibility of this world he was in now. Maybe his visions were the real world. How could this have happened in Armston?

Corpses of charred officers littered the floors. The explosion had sent shards of glass, splinters of wood, rods of metal flying in every possible direction. The sidewalks were strewn with everything from bodies to papers.

Store owners came out in all eagerness. They had never experienced such. The highest was a threat from one Isaias Schafer, and Ricky had done well to apprehend the demented youth before he could actually carry out his plans. But this? A bomb blast right here in Armston.

This was a first. Many residents didn't even know how to react. They gawked behind yellow tapes as the rescue officers pulled out survivors and rushed them to the emergency wing of the Armston Hospital—which is where they were now.

Bill had only suffered minor burns, but the doctors insisted they still take care of him for a little while, hence his room was turned into an FBI office.

Ricky, Andrea and Ray stood beside Bill's gurney. Bill didn't have a problem with Ricky being outside his house now.

"Why bombs?" Ricky asked. "Did he ever use this method in Washington?"

"Not that I can remember." Bill said, gauze attached to parts of his skin. He stared at Ricky. "Someone must have pissed him off real bad."

"You said he was going for the police next and he did just that." Andrea said.

"That means I'm next." Ricky said with a blank stare. Blank stares set in on every one's face. This was as much about saving Ricky as it was about finding Cutter.

Bill sat up. "We won't let that happen."

There was a beat.

Then Ricky said. "No, I wont let it happen." He swiveled to walk out of Bill's room.

A voice thundered. Bill's voice. "Where are you going now?"

Ricky stopped and considered. He couldn't get too far from the FBI. It wouldn't be wise. "I need to clear my head." He walked out the door.

To his surprise, Agent Bill hadn't so much as objected. They had let him go out.

He wasn't alone on that one. Everyone needed to clear their heads. Cutter had moved from the realm of carving words into skin to explosives. No one had seen him enter the police HQ, no one saw him plant the bomb, and no one saw him leave the premises.

But it had to be Cutter. Cutter somehow knew his likes. He knew what Ricky's heart called out for. Cutter knew that he was last on his own priority listing.

He cared about every other person except himself. But now that every other person was gone he was the only person he could possibly care for.

But then Ricky realized something. He was focusing on Cutter too much. He was focusing on the bad things happening all around him. He was scared. He was scared of this ghost of a man in person of Cutter.

No matter how much Cutter didn't want him to see hope, there was hope. Father David had told him that. And now that Father David was dead, he really needed to hang on his words.

The first account of the Bible Cutter had quoted was about Elijah the Tishbite, holed up in a cave, believing that he was alone. The counter to that was; seven thousand prophets had been preserved by God—those who hadn't bowed to Baal, and those who had not kissed him.

The second account was from Job. He had lost his family, his livelihood, and his health. He was practically a walking cadaver. The counter for that—according to Father David—was; the Lord blessing the latter end of Job more than his beginning. He literarily forgot his past.

Father David had shared all this with him before he was taken by Cutter. And what was the message then? My God, My God...Why hast thou forsaken me? The very words of Christ. But Christ needed to be forsaken.

Ricky froze. Men and women sauntered past him, seemingly in slow motion. What was he thinking? Christ had to be forsaken? Yes. Christ had to be forsaken by the Father in order to allow him die to free the world from the deathly talons of sin. And what were the words spoken by Christ on the cross at Golgotha?

IT IS FINISHED

It is finished! His death wasn't actually his death. It was the fulfillment of his mission here on earth.

It was then that it struck Ricky. Every example Cutter had extracted from the bible ended in victory for the righteous. There was no way he was going to die. Otherwise everything he'd believed since he was a child would be thrown into the bin.

This couldn't end in Cutter's favor.

Like an electric shock, something vibrated in Ricky's pocket, jerking him back to reality. His phone. It was ringing. He frantically pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the caller ID—Viv.

"Vivian?" He whispered to himself. No. It couldn't be. She was dead. He had seen her picture. But not her body.

The phone still rang in his quivering hand. Was Cutter using Vivian's phone? This would be the first time Cutter would communicate in real-time with him over here. He had done so once in his vision, but not here.

~

"Sir." Ray said to Bill. "We have a call coming through to Detective Platt's cell."

With a nod from Bill, Ray flipped a switch, all set to monitor and track the call Ricky was about to receive.

~

Ricky hit the accept button and placed the phone cautiously against his ears. He waited for a voice to come over the ear piece.

"Ricky?"

Vivian. It was Vivian's voice. She was alive. She was well. She was calling.

"Ricky, are you there?"

"Vivian! Where are you? How are you? Where's Nicky?"

"We are fine, but we don't have much time. You need to come rescue us now."

"Where are you?" Ricky was desperate.

"I don't know...in some back desert outside town. You have to come for us Ricky." She spoke faster now. "I have to go, Cutter is coming."

Cutter. "Vivian, Vivian!" But the line was dead. Ricky swiveled on a spot and bolted through the halls on the balls of his feet. He needed to see Bill.

His pulse surged with excitement. There was victory after all. Vivian was alright. Nicky too. He peeled through the hall, sliding on the marble floor while making turns and bumping into people at those turns.

He burst into Bills room, panting, holding his phone in the air just in time to see Ray flip a switch.

"We know. We heard everything." Bill said knowingly.

"Did you get a location?" Ricky asked.

"Two miles off the route to a town called Congress." Ray answered.

"Let's move." Ricky said as Bill threw the covers off himself.
15

The phone call from Vivian had thrown Ricky's head off balance. She was supposed to be dead, but she wasn't. She had sounded like she was far away. Farther than the location they were roaring to. Almost like she was calling from another world. Then again, that might have been because he had concluded that she had been dead for a few days now. Hearing her voice again was like a desert trekker being bathed in cold water all of a sudden.

Agent Ray Ferland was driving the black Chevy Suburban SUV. Andrea Summers was in the passenger's seat. Agent Bill and Ricky sat at the back, tires humming right beneath them as they tore miles away from Armston southbound.

Ricky had never understood why there was never a body to prove his wife's death. Mr. Wilcox's body was left in his house, as were the Chief's and Father David's. Ricky hung his head. May his soul rest in Peace.

Bill must have taken note because he asked: "Which one?" He must have been referring to one of Cutter's victims.

"Father David."

"We're fortunate your wife is alive. You just think about that, okay?"

"All right."

Just in time Ray veered the car to the left, turning unto a dirt road that popped gravel under the car.

Bill monitored their position relative to the location they were heading for using the GPS. It was no wonder they weren't able to track Cutter down. Their location had been a lone house in the middle of nowhere. According to the satellite image, there was nothing out here but sand, rocks, Joshua trees, and this one house with the gray tin roof.

Ricky glanced out back to see the two police cruisers tailing them. Each carried two officers. Their sirens were off; Bill wanted them to go in silent. He wasn't ready to take any chances, and Ricky agreed totally.

"Sir," It was all Ray had to say to let everyone know that the building had come into view. Ricky checked his cell phone. There was no reception out here. Then how had Vivian called from this location? Yet they had tracked the signal to this very spot.

And here was their proof. An old blue Volkswagen T3 Transporter was parked askew of the building.

"Well I'll be..." Bill couldn't complete his statement for the shock that had settled on him.

Ricky couldn't believe his eyes either. This was the same vehicle the officer in his vision had said they'd identified as Cutter's vehicle. The same one Darren had placed an APB on here.

The tires of the SUV came to a gravel crunching stop, leaving a puff of dust rising into the air from all sides. The other cruisers did the same. Doors popped open. Cops and Agent came out, wielding 9mm pistols—a couple of the cops had shotguns aimed at the ground. Everyone was ready to take down this mad man.

If Ricky wasn't mistaken, there was a presence to this place. An evil presence, hanging in the air, like black ominous rain clouds, threatening. Ricky exited the Suburban and chambered a round, waiting for word from Bill who had exited on the other side of the vehicle. But none came. Not so much as a suggestion.

Ricky craned his neck to see Bill at the other side, pistol aimed at the ground. He arched his right brow and cocked his head.

"Bill," Ricky called out.

No reply.

Ricky rounded the cars rear and walked carefully to Bill's position. "Bill!" He whispered hoarsely, waving his hands before Bill's eyes.

Not so much as a blink.

Then it dawned on Ricky. No one except him was moving right now.

"Ray," Ricky hopped over to the Agent from Phoenix. Nothing.

He glanced back and saw the officers from the two cruisers, practically frozen in their positions. A petit tremble rested on Ricky's fingers.

But Ricky stood, calmed himself, and brought into memories the victories he and Father David had spoken about before the Father's passing.

The Prophet Elijah. Job. And Jesus. There was victory. He was fighting this killer from the stand point of victory.

A sound thudded behind Ricky. He glanced around to see Ray on the floor. Dust rose all around the FBI Agent. Ricky squatted right next to Ray.

"Ray, can you hear me?" Ricky said, placing two fingers on the man's neck, searching for a pulse. There was none.

Another thud. Andrea.

He spun around and saw Bill slump to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The four officers behind followed, dropping like dead flies. Only he stood. Every official who had come to end Cutter's reign of terror had fallen to the ground mysteriously. Dead.

Somehow, without so much as a finger being raised by Cutter, everyone that had come to finish this had ended up dead. And why was Ricky so sure it was Cutter? He didn't know. If they were to conduct an autopsy on each of these bodies, would they have concluded that they died of a Sudden Cardiac Arrest?

In truth Ricky didn't know the answer to that question, but this only fueled him. If he was left alive it meant he carried something these men and woman didn't carry. Or did Cutter do this just so that he could have a one on one with Ricky? Did Cutter permit this?

No, there was more to this. Ricky had actually felt his pulse surging from a kind of fear he couldn't explain. A fear he had never experienced. But he was quick to chase it away.

Could this be how the others died? Ricky asked himself. This fear.

With new resolve, Ricky faced the decrepit building. Its windows hung loose with one broken. The door slanted to the right at a slight angle even though it was still attached to its hinges. Holes had been burrowed into the wooden floor of the front porch by termites. The entire scene would have been a gloom if he were to be here at night.

He edged for the door, Pistol in hand, steps exaggerated by the loud crunch of dried sand and rocks under his leather shoes. The loud crunch gave way to a deep clunking sound when he stepped unto the wooden flooring of the porch. The clunking of his shoes, his breathing, and the reverberating chirps of Cactus Wrens were the only sounds that could be heard out here.

Ricky placed his hand on the circular door knob, swiveled and pushed. Unlocked.

He felt his head begin to swim as he took in the air from within the house. He collapsed and everything went black.

16

Ricky awoke to the sight of loosely fitted floor boards underneath his feet. The musty smell of damp wood welcomed his first conscious breath. His hands were stretched and harnessed to a cold metal rim that ran across his bare back.

He was in Cutter's lair. Ricky blinked and shook his head, trying to remember how he got here. He had come here together with the FBI agents from Washington and Phoenix before they all dropped dead. He had decided to check the abandoned shack on his own and finally collapsed at the turn of the door knob.

No. That wasn't right. He was actually at St. Sebastian's Cathedral, hunting for Cutter's identity. He had seen a silhouette form right before his heart started beating at an abnormally fast rate. He had never had his heart beat so vigorously. He momentarily collapsed to the floor and blacked out in the process.

He had blacked out after seeing the silhouette of the man who had kidnapped his family, and this in turn had thrown him into a string of images beginning with him waking up early one morning to the knowledge that his wife and daughter had been killed by a man called Cutter. The whole thing felt eerily real to him. The death of Vivian and Nicky. The death of one Mr. Wilcox, the Police Chief, Father David, the Armston Police bombing.

But what was peculiar was he kept having flashbacks of every event that led up till this moment.

Ricky's head ached. This was all too much to consider. Moments ago he was in another world considering this one a vision. But now he was in this one, with a hundred-and-ten percent conviction that this was the real world. He had spent almost three days over there, but only about a day had gone by here since Vivian and Nicky had been kidnapped, not killed as he'd once believed.

Vivian! Nicky!

Ricky cleared the fog out of his sight and looked around the room. In the far corner lay three figures. Father David too.

"Vivian!" Ricky whispered, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

Vivian's head popped up. She was alive.

"Ricky," She seemed flustered.

"You're okay!" Ricky said.

Vivian stood and began rushing across the room. The sound of metallic chains jingled through the night air. It sounded excruciatingly loud in Ricky's ears. His wife was sobbing. And so was he.

Her chain reached its limit and she fell, face flat, on the wooden floor with a thud. She grunted.

"Vivian!" They were making too much noise.

Ricky wanted to reach out for his wife but felt his hands fastened to a rod. He had forgotten. His legs were also tied to the bottom of a steel pole. What was this? A typification of the cross?

Ricky jerked around in desperate effort to free himself but only found that his harness was done too tightly. He was only bruising his wrists and ankles. The contraption swayed forward and backward, but only a little.

Vivian stood steadily, rubbing her forehead. She stared straight at Ricky, "I knew you'll come."

"I got your phone call." No, he hadn't received a phone call, it was all in that strange vision that felt unnervingly real.

"It wasn't a phone call, Ricky. It was a prayer." Vivian was on her knees now.

She was praying. Praying that her husband was going to come to her rescue and he had heard her prayer as a phone call in his visions.

He looked around the room, stunned by this revelation. That meant Agent Bill and Agent Andrea from the FBI Washington field office didn't exist—or they did but hadn't been to Armston. They were all part of that strange vision. He never even knew a man by name; Bill Gleeson from Washington.

"I love you." Ricky wasn't sure where that came from, but it was something he had been wanting to say for a long time now, and seeing his wife alive before his very eyes pushed it out of him.

"I..." Vivian stifled a sob. "...I love you, too."

They were making too much noise. Nicky and Father David started moving behind Vivian. They were waking.

Ricky watched Nicky rub her eyes with circular motions from her wrists. "Mommy?" That was his little Angel.

Tears ran down Ricky's right cheek at the sight of his little world in the corner.

"Honey, Daddy's here to save us." Vivian said now facing their daughter. Ricky was sure she had said that as a way of telling Nicky that there was still hope. How was he going to rescue them when he needed rescuing himself?

"Daddy?" Every tinge of sleep seemed to have broken off her eyes like the scales of blindness falling off Saul's eyes at the touch of Ananias.

The little girl leapt to her feet and started running for her daddy who was harnessed to a metal cross.

"Ricky?" Father David was asking no one in particular in the far corner.

Vivian caught her child before her chains stopped her short and she hurt herself.

"Isn't that cute?" A clean voice said unexpectedly from the door.

Cutter. In the flesh.

No one spoke. Vivian and Nicky retreated closer to the spot they were in moments ago.

Cutter walked to the center of the room.

"Long time no see, Ricky Platt. Or is it Norbert Hoover?" Cutter implied.

Ricky didn't get what was going on. Here in this damp room, he was affixed to a cross, his family and mentor where bound in chains in a corner, and this psychopath with the scruffy hair, deep seated olive green eyes, and long arms was accusing him of being someone else.

"What are you saying?" Ricky was genuinely flummoxed.

"You are quite the fighter aren't you?" Cutter said.

Ricky was too busy mulling over who this Norbert Hoover character might be. Whoever he was, he knew one thing; He must be the man of whom he resembled. It was the reason Cutter had said he had killed Ricky a dozen times. All his victims resembled this Norbert Hoover character—whoever he was.

"I'll never forget you." Cutter said, drilling a stare directly into Ricky's eyes.

Ricky had to look over at his family before he could look back into this man's eyes. The eyes of Satan himself.

"I'm not your guy. I'm not Norbert Hoover."

"Shut up!" Cutter flared. "You're a liar!" Spittle sprayed out of his mouth. He was suddenly panting, like he had just run a marathon. "You killed my father. I was eight when you killed him."

Ricky suddenly felt a little compassion for the man. He had lost it. Facially, Cutter looked to be in his thirties, but the trauma of loosing his dad decades ago had somehow blinded Cutter to the fact that Ricky was also in his thirties. Ricky wanted to tell him that but thought better of it.

Cutter was calm now. "I would have killed him sooner or later, God knows that," He was referring to his dad? "He killed my mother. I would have killed him in the only way fitting for him to die."

"Scrawling letters on his skin?"

"Even in death the words 'World's Sickest Daddy' would have told a tale of who he really was." Cutter said.

The entire room went silent.

"Tell me, Norbert. How did you do it? I looked straight into your eyes at the cathedral when you saw me in your vision and yet you are still alive." Cutter sat on a table that rested against a wall.

"I'm not Norbert,"

"I didn't ask who you were, I want to know how you did it. The mere sight of me triggers a heart rate capable of putting down even the healthiest of men."

"You feed them their worst fears."

"In the most convincing ways."

The visions. They were his worst fears. The loss of his family. The loss of the ability to see spiritually. The loss of his family and friends at APS. The loss of Father David. They had all come true in his vision. It was just like Job—For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me...

But somehow, even in Cutter's fear, God had routed a way for him to escape.

"Somehow my fears already had the answer. All the quotes you carved on the dead bodies were from the bible. But you didn't know that they all had a counter. Elijah wasn't the only prophet left in the land, others were just hidden. Job might have lost everything, but more was restored to him in the end. And Jesus, he might have been forsaken by the Father, but that was the only way for him to die and make atonement for our sins. In that there was total victory."

~

Cutter fumed at the words proceeding from Norbert Hoover's mouth. The man had killed his father when he was eight—a task only he was entitled to perform, and now he felt he had the right to preach the gospel? If Cutter was a religious man he would have cried blasphemy.

The man fastened to the metal cross before him was the sole reason he had joined the coven known as Black Revelation. The one reason he was so illusive was because he didn't operate on the same level as your regular human. It was a wonder that this Norbert Hoover was able to survive to this very minute.

Norbert was the only one to have survived even when he meant him for dead.

He hadn't intended on killing the Father, and the wife and daughter who were cowering away in the far corner, that's the only reason they were still alive. But now that rage flared within every nerve in his body, he might just kill the whole lot of them.

It was enough with the chit-chat. Norbert was going to get it. The other dozen Norberts weren't actually Norberts. He had just killed them on account of their striking resemblance of the county sheriff from '87. Now he had the real Sheriff Norbert Hoover.

Cutter reached for a drawer. He pulled out a meat cleaver and twirled it in the night light. Not once did he break his stare from Norbert. He wasn't sure if he was making a show by twirling the cleaver in order to get his mind off the diminutive drop of uncertainty that moved around it. What uncertainty was that?

"The man who killed Daddy. R.I.P." Cutter said, taking short steps toward Norbert. "That's your own message." Cutter pricked his index finger with the apex of the cleaver. "You should have let me kill him, Norbert."

~

This Norbert matter was too much. He wasn't Norbert. Ricky tried his best to stay still, But he couldn't shake the thought that he was about to be killed and carved on right before his wife and his six year old daughter. And after Cutter was done with him what next? Would he proceed with Vivian, Nicky and Father David?

Ricky mumbled a silent prayer as Cutter closed the gap between them. He had been hoisted up to this make shift cross, so Cutter stood a head shorter than him, otherwise they must have been the same height.

The apex of the cleaver came against Ricky's right breast, but Cutter hadn't dug in yet. He was savoring the moment.

Ricky's breathing became heavy, and pushed his chest into the cleaver a bit. A drib of blood eased out of his skin, mixed with the sweat on his chest, and dribbled down his torso, finally staining his denim pants.

Ricky grunted. He could hear Vivian whimpering in the corner.

He saw a wide smile rip Cutter's face apart at the jaw.

Something shuffled outside the shack.

Cutter pulled back the cleaver from Ricky's chest and stared at the door as if he would be able to see through it. He turned around and edged for the door. He dropped the cleaver on the table he had picked it up from and was out of the room without a word.

Ricky had to make the most out of this opportunity. He was hoping that whatever made that shuffling sound outside was important enough to keep Cutter out there for a few minutes. He jerked on the metal cross again. There was no way he could free himself out of the harness that strapped his limbs to each beam of the cross. The ropes were on too tight and with every jerk he either cut his skin, or at least bruised them.

He jerked again. The contraption swayed.

"Ricky! What are you doing?" Vivian said, cradling a whimpering Nicky.

"Shhh!" Ricky snapped. He didn't want Cutter to suspect that anything was going on in here. He jerked again. The contraption swayed. Ricky sucked in a long breath and releasing it, he slammed his back into the metallic cross.

Thump!

With that, the cross tipped and stood for a second at an awkward angle. He shifted his weight to his right side and felt the cross turn where it was rooted to the floor as it began to fall.

Once the steel cross began tipping, Ricky knew he had made a grave mistake. He could hurt himself pretty bad. What if he hit his head on the floor or on the cross when his body got to the ground? He could be knocked out. Then who would rescue Vivian and Nicky and Father David? All this Ricky considered before the cross twirled and came slamming hard on the wooden floor. Ricky grunted involuntarily as air escaped from his lungs. His back slammed hard against the vertical pole of the cross. Cutter must have heard that even from outside the shack.

"Quick, untie my hand!" Ricky slammed the back of his right hand on the horizontal beam, pointing at the other three captives in the room.

Vivian moved fast. She let go of Nicky and crawled over to Ricky on her hands and knees. Her chain, attached to her leg, was just long enough for her to reach his right hand. She frantically undid the knot with trembling fingers.

If Cutter had heard all the ruckus coming from within the shack he would have been inside already. Whatever business he was attending to outside must have been utterly weighty.

Ricky stretched out his right arm across his chest and unknotted the other rope used by Cutter to harness his left hand to the beam. He sat up and began working at the ropes holding his feet together at the bottom of the vertical beam.

The door came open, and Vivian and Nicky gasped simultaneously. Cutter was back.

Ricky rolled over and came up in a stance fitting for a hundred meter dash runner, staring Cutter dead in the eye. Cutter had his hand on the cleaver already and had now pulled the door close. Ricky bolted for the killer, neglecting the fact that he had no weapon as Cutter did. He crashed into Cutter's torso like a football player hitting a tackling dummy and felt the cold stainless steel cleaver pierce deep into his back. He let out a guttural scream which was echoed by Vivian and Nicky. But he had enough momentum to send Cutter into the door to the shack. The door came lose and they slammed into the front porch, leaving Vivian's cry behind.

It wasn't till they had slammed into the porch, that Ricky saw what the source of the noise they all heard inside a couple of minutes ago was. It was Chief Delay.

Ricky was shocked to numbness at the sight of the Armston Police Chief sprawled on the dusty ground not up to ten feet to his right. Was he dead? How had he known where to find them? This man was killed twice by Cutter.

In a second, Ricky took in his environment. It was just as in his vision. Cutter's van was parked askew of the building. The only difference was the absence of the Armston Police cruisers and the FBI Chevy Suburban. And there were certainly no dead cops and FBI Agents littering the floor.

Ricky was jerked back to life by the searing pain of a cleaver being uprooted from his bare back. He yelled again, and arched his back inward till he faced the blackened sky.

"Ricky!" Vivian yelled from within the house. He could hear the rattling of chains. He was sure it was Vivian's chains.

Ricky caught the sight of Cutter's hand thrusting for his head, wielding the cleaver, in his peripheral vision. He immediately raised his right hand and caught Cutter's arm by the wrist. Their hands shook tremendously as Ricky tried to push back Cutter's hand.

Cutter brought a fist to Ricky's side and Ricky was sure he felt a rib crack.

Ricky rolled over Cutter's left arm till they both faced the wooden ceiling with the lone lamp hanging off it. Having Cutter's left arm tucked under his sweaty bare back, Ricky took hold of the arm with which Cutter wielded the cleaver with both his hands and pulled it down till the knife struck deep into Cutter's chest.

Cutter's limbs slackened till they became limp. For a moment everything was still. Ricky lay over Cutter's arm staring at the lamp overhead. No sound came out of the shack.

Cutter was dead. Ricky jumped to his feet and bolted into the shack's living room.

"Ricky, thank God!" Vivian was saying next to Nicky who gawked stupidly at her dad.

Father David was deep in prayer.

"Where does he keep the keys?" Ricky said, panting.

"Somewhere beyond that hall, I think he has a room in there." Vivian said, hope suddenly lighting her face.

Ricky ran into the darker hall and came up in a room. This was where Cutter slept. He ransacked the room and finally found the keys tucked under a pillow. He swiped them and was back in the living room in a flash. He frenetically freed Vivian, Nicky and Father David of their chains not sure why he was rushing. He couldn't stay here for even a minute longer. Huddling them together, they all headed for the exit with Ricky leading the way.

Ricky drew to a halt when he saw Cutter on his feet, the cleaver still jutted out of his left breast.

Cutter pulled out the knife and grimaced as he did. "I don't go down so easy." His voice came out hoarse.

Ricky was contemplating rushing Cutter again. He might have had a rib cracked and a gash on his back, but Cutter definitely had an artery or two severed. Cutter would definitely be weaker than him.

That was when a thunderous sound boomed through the air. Vivian and Nicky gasped at the sudden noise, cupping there hands on their ears. Cutter crumpled to the ground like a sack of rocks and blood pooled under his head.

They all turned their heads right, to the direction the sound came from. Chief Delay lay on the ground, smoking gun in hand.
17

The bullet to the head had caused instant death to the killer, Cutter—whom they had now identified as one Gary Coates. He was born in a town called Brook Bay in the year 1979.

His father, Bartholomew Coates was responsible for the death of his wife, Agnes Coates in 1987 when Gary was eight years old. The same year, when the Brook Bay Sheriff's office had come to arrest Bartholomew in relation to Agnes's death, Bartholomew had assaulted the officers, leading to shots being fired.

Bartholomew was shot in the head.

Cutter had witnessed all this at the tender age of eight. Unknown to anyone, Cutter had a plan to kill his own dad before the Sheriff had done so. They proved this with the mounds of papers they had found in his childhood home. The papers had vulgar insults, weapons, knives, and squiggly drawings of a dead man scrawled all over them. It was left to the imagination what Cutter had been thinking toward his father.

He had been the only child of the Coates, but now he was no more.

Bob Delay had summarized the story to Ricky, Vivian and Father David.

"One less psychopath to deal with." Delay said, rising to his feet. "I need a drink."

"Thanks so much, Sir."

"Eh, don't mention it. The force needs you more than it needs me." The Police Chief said, winking. "Get some rest, kiddo." And with that he was out of the house.

Vivian rose also and crossed the room to monitor Nicky who was playing with some of her first grade friends on the front lawn of their house.

Ricky eased closer to Father David. "It was an experience like no other."

"You had a vision that spanned three days." The Father's eyes were wide.

"While the same time here equated to only one day." Ricky stood. "My faith was tested, in a way it had never been. I feel stronger now, like there is nothing I can't take on."

"Yeah well before you go taking on mountains remember you have a wife and a six year old daughter." Vivian said, walking gracefully over to him.

He pecked her forehead. She was in his arms again. The woman who had been killed then kidnapped by Cutter. Ricky was glad to have his wife and a daughter again. He knew what it meant to lose family.

But he also knew what it meant to gain them back.

###

Coming Soon

The Reflection

By

MiCH OLORUNFEMi

...What happens when evil comes bundled up as good?

The Reflection

A mirror only reflects who you are in the now, not who you're going to be, and certainly not who you want to be. For this reason, Toyin could never quite understand herself.

She knew of a thousand-and-one ladies who would kill to posses what she had now. She had just finished a show where she was forced to wear some outrageous—if not hideous—outfits and catwalk down the runway to the booming tune of techno music and the flashing lights of a hundred cameras.

Toyin sat upright on the stool, staring stoically at herself in the mirror backstage. Before her lay the months edition of City People magazine where she was listed as number four in the HOTTEST ABUJA BABES category. No surprise. She had won the MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN ABUJA pageant in 2011.

Yes. Thousands of girls would kill to be where she was now. She had come a long way from tossing fries, and taking orders from people who needed to watch their diet but never did, at Chicken County.

So what was missing? She had the head-turning looks. Financially she was okay. She didn't have many friends, but she had a handful of people she could trust. And that was a big deal in this part of the world where the motto "Trust no one" was literally the only mode of survival. She was the prettiest girl in the capital city—at least by last year's standards. But yet she felt like a thousand-piece puzzle turned 999. No matter which way you looked at the puzzle it just wasn't complete. Maybe she needed a boyfriend—that she didn't have.

Toyin rose to her feet and bundled her magazine into her massive bag which was nicknamed Noah's Ark for its sheer size by Pelumi, her manager. She heard a creek and the side door swung open.

"Madam, I wan lock up." The facility manager said in pidgin English.

"I was just about leaving." Toyin said, bundling her mobile phone and iPod off the stark white dresser which was wide enough to sit over twenty models as they had their noses powdered. And it wasn't the only one in the spacious room.

The manager retracted his head and Toyin started a walk—not a catwalk, but a human-walk—out of the Arena, remembered of something else she didn't have: A car.

The lack of her own automobile propelled her to stand on the sidewalk minutes after twelve in the dark morning hailing cabs.

There were three things Nigerians didn't like; Tailors, cops, and most of all, they didn't like cabbies. Heck, they detested them. There was always a silent disagreement between the driver and the passenger. A dense air which seemed to be present in every cab. Once, Toyin had hopped into a cab, and while stuck in traffic the driver pulled out a canister and began spraying the dashboard, claiming to be giving it a shiny polish. Toyin had promptly stopped the driver, claiming she was allergic to CFC's, or something, lest she slept off in the back of the green cab and wake up in an evil forest beyond one of the many satellite towns in Abuja as a lamb of sacrifice to some sacred god. It was this sort of stories, which one heard everyday, that created the invisible—and sometimes visible—air of distrust between cabbies and their passengers.

Toyin waved her hand at the sight of an approaching taxi. The car pulled to a stop and Toyin bent over to get a good look at the man behind the wheel. The look in their eyes also told you whether to trust your taxi driver or consider them an agent of Satan.

"Gwarinpa," Toyin said.

"Seven hundred Naira." The driver said dryly.

"Can I see your boot?" Toyin asked. It was a question the police—another set of people Nigerians hadn't gotten to like yet—advised everyone to ask cab drivers before they jumped into the cabs especially when the sky was black.

The driver hissed and pushed the metal hard to the floor, sending the car forward without so much as a glance back. It was the distrust thing; YOU EITHER BELIEVE I DON'T HAVE A SEVERED HEAD IN MY TRUNK OR REMAIN STRANDED. Toyin waited for the next taxi.

~

Before long, a taxi with a driver whose eyes she could trust came along and she was on her way home. Even though home wasn't to be her final destination this night, and that struck her as absurd.

Susan, one of the models she had been working with on the just concluded show, had invited her for an all-night prayer meeting. The girl was a Christian—and boy did she let people know it. She kept a skin cut and never wore earrings except when on the runway.

Toyin first noticed Susan at the model screening a week earlier. But the singular reason why she had taken note of the bald-headed model was because the model had taken note of her first. Momentarily, Susan had walked up to her and asked her if she needed anything.

"No." Toyin had said.

"You just look like you need something," Susan said, looking into Toyin's eyes like she could read her mind by doing so.

Toyin tried not to look so flustered.

"Do you know Jesus?"

Now Toyin looked flustered. "Sorry?"

Susan repeated the question and Toyin's disposition must have shown that she didn't.

This wasn't the first encounter Toyin had had with a bible-thumper. In Abuja you get to meet these types on a daily basis. And one thing Toyin had noticed about them all was the fact that they all judged her. But there was something different about Susan.

"I like you." Susan quipped. "Good luck."

By the end of the week, Toyin knew she could trust Susan. Which is why when Susan invited her to the prayer meeting at her church, she couldn't turn her down. And what a happenstance that the Redeemed Salvation Ministries (RSM) was just down the street. She'd never been in there even though she had been living on that street for years.

Toyin had told the cab man to drop her off at her house. She needed a change of raiment. She was near certain that a prayer meeting wasn't a place to walk into with a tank top and shorts north of the knees. She had consequently changed her clothes and walked down the road to the RSM.

Toyin couldn't help but wonder if the 1000th piece of her jigsaw puzzle of a life was at the RSM, but as she approached the church she seriously doubted so. With every step taken closer to the plaza—in which the church was nested somewhere on the third floor—Toyin could hear voices escaping every opening.

Every step closer amplified the voices. Toyin looked into the sky and got a glimpse of a little rain cloud beginning to form. There was an uncanny feel to the atmosphere of this night but Toyin couldn't be sure what it was. Suddenly, the longer she spent outside, the less safe she felt. She bolted for the plaza, leaving the naked street behind her.

~

The third floor of the plaza was heavy with the wails, the cries, the shouts, and the sporadic clapping of hands of what must have been hundreds of people packed like sardines in the RSM not 20 feet from Toyin's position.

The scene that greeted Toyin as she stepped into the RSM hall was at once shocking as it was amusing. There were no more than fifty people in here. So the ruckus she had been hearing on the street, the one she thought was the voices of hundreds of people, was just the cries of no more than fifty people.

The voices she had heard down the street were voices of incoherent ramblings. Tongues smacked rapidly the inner walls of the mouths of the fifty, producing sounds not so different from those of a jackhammer.

Occasionally, though, she heard someone, somewhere, make sense when they screamed "In The name of Jesus!" Normally, a thunderous clap will follow that exclamation, and the person would resume an animated walk and the ramblings would continue.

Toyin found her way to the back of the hall and watched in awe. She glanced her wrist watch and saw it was 1AM. The meeting was slated for 11PM. She was a whopping two hours late. But it didn't seem to matter. Everyone was a little too engrossed in their prayers to notice the stranger walk in late for an all-night prayer meeting.

Toyin spotted Susan indulging in her own animated dance in a corner of the hall. Had she spotted her? She seriously doubted it. The lady was too preoccupied.

Toyin shifted her gaze to the raised platform across the hall. The Altar. She assumed that the man holding the microphone was the head pastor.

The moment Toyin's gaze shifted to the pastor, the man froze. He closed his eyes and raised his head till it faced the ceiling like he was sensing something. Toyin didn't know why her heart began to thump at a quicker tempo.

The man looked into the crowd for a second, raised the mike to his lips and hollered. "In Jesus' name we pray!"

There were muffled "Amens" from the crowd and the ramblings quieted only a little. It took the man two more hollers to get the crowd quiet.

There was a kind of peaceful quiet hanging in the air for a moment. The kind you might feel at a cemetery, except, there was nothing dismal about this silence, rather, it was just the opposite.

The man on the stage spoke. "There is a lady here tonight. You came into this meeting late."

Toyin wondered if the man had spotted her come in, though she didn't think so. She was certain no one had seen her entering the hall. But she had come late. Was he referring to her?

"You are seated somewhere at the back." The speakers blared.

She was seated at the back. Strike two. Even though she wasn't the only one seated at the back of the hall, she thought it unlikely that the others had been late as well. No one had come in after her.

The man twirled his neck and held it in a cocked position. Time stayed still. People looked on in anticipation as if they had all come in late and were sitting in the back.

"You've come here looking for that one thing that will make your life feel whole."

A cold sensation washed down Toyin's entire body. Her eyes went wide. Surely the man was talking about—maybe even to—her.

She had walked in two hours late. She was sitting in the back. And most of all, she had come looking to find the 1000th piece of her life's puzzle here. How did he know this? How could he possibly know this? Had Susan told him about her? That couldn't be, she hadn't even told Susan that much about herself. Coming to think of it, what had Susan said when they'd first met? "You just look like you need something." Then she had stared at her like she was seeing beyond her.

Was it so obtrusive that she needed a particular something, or was there just something uncanny about these RSM folk?

The man on stage started speaking again, and this time Toyin was a little bit anxious about what next would proceed from his mouth.

"Hear the word of the Lord concerning you this very hour!" His Nigerian accent was so prominent it came out as: Heah da wod of da Lod consanin you dis very awa. The man raised his free hand into the air as the prophet that he was.

Toyin didn't know when she stood, she only knew that she was now on her feet, gawking at this showy display of some sort of divine telepathy. She had seen people who were experiencing it, but never had she been party to its occurrence. She still wasn't sure she was.

"Every work of the enemy in your life shall be exposed!" The man roared.

Enemy? Toyin thought. What enemy?

Hands thrust into the air. Heads arched back. Knees touched the ground. And in one accord the people screamed a thunderous Amen. Toyin was left wondering if they acknowledged the prophecy on her behalf or if they were all going through the same thing. But the man, the pastor, had been specific. He was talking to the late comer at the back looking for the missing piece of the puzzle.

~

The only question on Toyin's mind as she walked out of the RSM was: What Enemies? She knew she didn't have any enemies. She had never even hurt a fly. The notion that she had enemies was not only frightening but also felt more like a curse than a solution.

Susan had found her after the meeting and asked her if she'd enjoyed it. Yes, she had said, though she was wondering if gatherings such as this were meant to be enjoyed. Yes just seemed the right thing to say. And obviously it was, because Susan seemed really delighted to hear that she had a good time.

Truth be told, Toyin had anything but a good time. Feeling like the outsider for four hours at a stretch didn't constitute for a good time. Having your mind read didn't constitute for a good time. Being told you had enemies most certainly didn't constitute for a good time.

Toyin got home at a quarter after five. She didn't even bother changing into her nightie before she plopped on her bed and slept. And dreamed.

~

Toyin dreamed a dream she had never dreamt before.

In her dream—or was it nightmare now—she woke up wearing something extremely different from what she had worn to the RSM meeting that morning. She wore what looked like a child's Sunday gown, but it fit perfectly. The unsettling thing was that it was the same dressing as the one she wore when she was only five and her father sat lifeless on the rocking chair in their parlor.

Toyin swiftly tugged on the collar of the dress and twirled her neck till its limit, straining to see the label: Little Miss Fruity. It was the same design, too.

Every other thing seemed normal until Toyin crossed the threshold of her front door. Her arms suddenly hung in the air above her head. It was then that she noticed she couldn't feel her limbs, but she could control her neck.

Hello. Toyin called out. Her voice echoed throughout the entire street. There was no one out there to answer her call. She scanned the street, first in the direction of the RSM plaza then the direction towards the street's exit that lead to the express route of Gwarinpa district. It was bare. Totally deserted. The street was dense with haze that dropped visibility to a staggering low. The entire street looked like a scene fit for Bram Stoker's Dracula movie. Except, this wasn't Transylvania, this was Abuja.

Toyin's right leg took a step forward on its own volition, and that's when Toyin noticed a string attached to her ankle. The string ran up on the inside of her calf to link with another string attached to her right knee.

Checking all her joints, she discovered a startling reality. Every major joint was controlled by thick, white strings. She was a marionette. Toyin looked above and into the blackened sky to behold the puppet master. She saw that the strings went all the way to the top of her four-story apartment building where they were attached to a crossed, wooden apparatus. The horrifying part of the image for Toyin was the pair of gigantic hands that controlled the strings. They were white, almost as white as printing paper, and they were flaking.

Toyin guessed that the pair of big, white, flaky hands had a body to which they belonged because, though she couldn't see any other body part, she could see hundreds of jet black strands—she assumed were hair—drooping off the mammoth-sized fingers.

With the flick of a finger, Toyin's left leg took a step forward, toward a creaking sound coming from the LEA (Local Education Authority) school down the road.

Every time Toyin passed that school, she felt a pang of fear corroding her insides. Ever since the fires, Toyin had been looking for a new apartment building. The fires had gutted one of the three buildings in the school, killing more than a dozen kids. That building still remained charred two months after for lack of funds to renovate. No one ever neared the building. The number of students attending the school had dropped immensely following the incident. Some parents had pulled their kids out, not for fear for the safety of their children, but for fear of the spirits that now roamed the school's grounds. Of course, no one had actually seen or heard any paranormal spirit activity in the carbonized and decrepit structure, but if you asked anyone what their take on the school was—which people refrained from doing—they'll tell you with a hundred-and-ten percent conviction that the spirits of the dead children still roamed the school grounds. And now, Toyin found her legs—controlled by the puppet master, or mistress—taking her closer to the dreaded death school.

By the time Toyin reached where the gate of the school should have ideally been—assuming there was enough funds to wall the school—the haze had begun to let up. It was very much still present, but not as dense as it had been when Toyin had first emerged out of her apartment building.

Attached to strings, it wasn't until Toyin had gone past the LEA school's admin block—one of the only two buildings left—that she first heard the first patent laugh of a kid echo all over the school ground. It was short, as if a little girl was being tickled. There were no pitter-patter of feet running around, just the occasional giggles and chortles of unseen kids. Soon, Toyin's movement was stopped when she was not twenty-five feet from the charred building. Toyin's hands still hung stupidly above her head.

Toyin couldn't see any kids through the busted windows of the charred building which sat hauntingly with the blackened night sky and full moon laying an appropriate backdrop for it. Her vision was further impaired by a massive baobab tree which jutted out of the ground, leafless, till it stood sturdily above the height of the scorched building beyond. The branches of the tree spread out like witchy talons scrapping the sky. It was then that Toyin noticed what the source of the creaking sound—now louder than ever—was.

The black shadowy image of a rocking chair, swaying back and forth, creaking, protruded from the other side of the baobab tree, painting the sandy soil of the school ground.

Find him, the voice of the puppeteer said, a female voice that sounded vaguely similar to Toyin's.

Toyin turned to take another look at the puppeteer, but there was nothing but the black night up there where the sky should be. Toyin glanced at herself and found the white marionette strings gone. She was free.

Toyin hadn't gotten the chance to ask the one question that sat on her mind like a birds nest; what was this all about? She would have yelled the question out, hoping to get a response from the vanished puppeteer, but yelling in the dark night in a school full of the spirits of dead kids seemed like going to the deepest darkest parts of Sheol, screaming that Jesus is Lord when you bore the name Sceva.

Her attention was drawn to the rocking chair. She had only seen one of these in her entire life. The one her dad loved to sit in and smoke his Pall Mall. Could it be? she asked herself. She only now noticed the shadow cast of a man sitting, rocking the chair. A faint thin object protruded from the shadow man's mouth.

With a perfect blend of fear, anxiety, and excitement, Toyin rounded the baobab tree, running on the balls of her feet. By the time she'd come up on the other side of the lifeless tree, she stood before none other than Raymond Peters, her father, dead for upward of fourteen years. Her lower jaw dropped with the realization that her father was alive. His eyes looked distant as he rocked the chair, like he wasn't seeing what was in front of him.

Like he wasn't seeing who was in front of him.

Toyin tried to take his hands but found that doing so only made her old man fade away, still rocking his chair. A moment after, the entire school vanished, then the sound of kiddy giggles vanished, then the entire street vanished till Toyin was left standing in a totally black and empty vacuum.

Toyin woke up to find the time already noon. Terrified did not even begin to explain the way she felt waking from that nightmare.

Find him. Find Raymond Peters.

###

About the Author

MICH OLORUNFEMI is a unique author dwelling on the Christian thriller genre. His stories give a nail-biting, jaw-tightening experience, taking you on a journey from fear to faith. Born in northern Nigeria, he lives in Abuja, Nigeria.

Visit www.micholorunfemi.wordpress.com to connect with Mich.
