Dark Corner Part 21

The Lexus sport utility was parked at the end of the long driveway. The resident was home. Public enemy number one.

Jackson walked to the gate. It wasn't locked. He pressed a lever, and the gate opened with a soft squeak.

He went inside. He rested his hand on the b.u.t.t of his .357 Magnum.

Pushed by a stiff breeze, the gate clanged shut behind him.

As if summoned by the noise, a group of dogs bolted out of the deep shadows beneath the trees. Big ones. Four of them. They barked, snapped, growled.

s.h.i.+t. Talk about a mess.

He didn't have time to make it outside before they caught him. They were moving fast-faster than he had ever seen hounds run. What the h.e.l.l were these mutts raised on?

He s.n.a.t.c.hed his .357 out of the holster. He backed up against the fence, aiming the gun in front of him.

The dogs surrounded him in a loose semicircle. They were a ragtag pack of mutts. They growled, thick saliva dripping from their mouths, their eyes wild and red. But they did not attack. He figured they must have been trained to capture, and only attack if their quarry tried to get away.

He didn't dare try to run. He would never make it. In fact, though he had the gun, he didn't feel confident about his chances if he took a crack at the mutts. He could take down one of the hounds with a bullet, but if they decided to attack him, as one, he was finished.

His mouth was dry.

The dogs glared at him, as if challenging him to make a move. d.a.m.ned if they didn't look him right in the eyes. They held no fear of him.

I ain't never seen no dogs act like this.

A man dressed in black emerged from the house. He strolled across the driveway. He wore a long, heavy jacket, a hat, aviator shades, boots, and, oddly, gloves. The temperature outdoors was in the low nineties. Wasn't this guy burning up in all those clothes?

But the most noticeable thing was that this was not the man Jackson had seen driving the Lexus around town. That guy had been shorter, and stout. He had never seen this guy before.

As the man approached, he raised his hand-a gesture the dogs could not have possibly seen-and the canines backed away, as if he controlled them with puppet strings.

Jackson cleared his throat. Something d.a.m.n strange was going on here.

He lowered the gun, but he did not put it away.

"I'm Chief Jackson," he said. "I'm here on police business.

"Greetings, Chief," the man said. "How may I help you?"

The fella had an odd, untraceable accent. French, kinda, but not exactly. Jackson couldn't pin it down.

"Nice dogs," Jackson said. The canines had retreated into the shadows. He finally holstered the gun. "Think they wanted to take a plug out of me"

"They might have, if I had not been present," the man said. "You've ventured onto private property, may I remind you."

"I ain't here to snoop around. Got some police business to discuss with you"

The man folded his arms across his chest. "I'm all ears."

Jackson took his handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped sweat off his forehead. "Say, ain't you hot with all those dark, heavy clothes on? Last time I checked it was ninety-some degrees out here"

"I'm comfortable," the guy said, in a tone that invited no discussion about his choice of clothing. "You were saying about the purpose of your visit?"

"We've had a girl in town turn up missing. Black female, nineteen years old. We've got a reliable witness who says that late last night, a tall fella wearing black-kinda like you-was seen putting what looked like a body in the back of a silver Lexus SUV. Just like the one parked up there by the house"

Jackson watched the man's reaction closely, looking for a facial tick that indicated discomfort or guilt. But the man's poker face did not change, though Jackson could not see his eyes because of the dark shades he wore.

"If I understand this correctly," the man said, "you suspect that I was involved in the disappearance of this young lady."

"Suspicion is kinda pointing toward you having something to do with it," Jackson said. "Where's the bald-headed man who lives here? Kinda stocky? I saw him driving through town a couple times."

"He is away. But he is not the man you want, Chief. I am the one. I am guilty."

Jackson was not often taken by surprise. But his mouth slipped open.

"You're telling me you're guilty?" Jackson said. "You're confessing?"

"I abducted the young lady," the man said. He smoothly removed his gla.s.ses.

Jackson gasped. This guy's eyes ... dear G.o.d. They were like twin black holes that sucked Jackson right into them. Jackson could not look away. A force as powerful as gravity compelled him to stand rigid and gaze, deeply, into the man's inhuman eyes.

Fella's done something to my mind, Jackson thought dimly. Reached in and taken control of it, like in those Star Wars movies, he's working ajedi mind trick on me, so help me, G.o.d.

As Jackson stood, entranced, the world receded as if swept away by a strong tide. The only reality was the man's eyes. Jackson no longer felt the oppressive heat and humidity. He no longer felt the ground under his feet and the sweat-drenched clothes that clung to his body. He no longer tasted the traces of the coffee he had sipped only minutes ago. No longer heard the soft wind that drifted across the yard.

The man's eyes were his world, his universe. They were everything.

When the man spoke again, his resonant voice was inside Jackson's head.

"Chief Jackson ... you are an honorable man and desire to serve your people, but now you will bend to a power greater than yourself. I required the young woman for purposes that you could not fathom in your mortal imagination. You will not arrest me. You will not question me further. You will not harbor any suspicion of those who currently dwell on this property. When you leave this place and continue your investigation into the woman's disappearance, you will direct your attention elsewhere. When you leave this place, you will not remember seeing me or the dogs. When you leave this place, the idea of ever visiting this residence again will fill you with paralyzing fear. You will not remember me issuing these commands to you. You will act upon them as though they spring from your own consciousness.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," Jackson said, numbly, not feeling his own lips move.

There was a popping sound, like fingers snapping.

Jackson blinked.

He stood in front of Jubilee's gates, alone.

Such sudden terror overcame him that he nearly collapsed. It was a wild, senseless fright, like a child's fear of the darkness. But he could not rationalize it away, could not argue it into submission. He was convinced that if he stood for another second on this property, the earth would buckle and erupt open like a hungry, gaping mouth. And swallow. Him. Whole.

"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus" Babbling, he ran to his patrol car. He hustled behind the wheel and roared away, spinning up gravel.

He did not look back.

Concealed in the shadows under a maple tree, the dogs flanking him, Kyle watched the police chief flee in his vehicle.

Mother frowned upon controlling the minds of men. She believed in finding peaceful ways to co-exist with humans and manipulating them through subtle, indirect means. Mind control was only to be used in the most extreme situations.

Kyle doubted that Mother would approve of what he had done to the chief, but so be it. His father approved. Father had encouraged him to confront the police officer and command him to do his bidding.

Kyle loved his growing confidence in exercising his talents. Being in his father's presence was transforming him, freeing him. He could feel the shackles of Mother's stringent rules falling away from his spirit, liberating him to become the powerful vampire that he had the right to be. A vampire like his father.

You must claim your birthright, my son, Diallo had said. I am a ping, and you are my prince. Put away childish things and be my prince.

Kyle knelt in the gra.s.s. The hounds pressed close to him, competing for his attention. They were eager to fulfill his will. The will of a prince.

Tonight, he would hunt again for his father, and he would take the dogs.

Late Sat.u.r.day morning, David went to visit Pearl, the reputed psychic whom he suspected had called him yesterday. He wanted to find out why she had warned him and what she could tell him about his father and the bizarre events that were going on lately.

Nia had given him directions to the woman's house. Pearl lived on the northern edge of town, in a small, one-story home that sat at the end of a long, dusty path ranked with oak and maple trees.

David parked at the end of the drive, beside a white Jeep Cherokee.

A screened-in porch fronted the house. David climbed the short flight of steps, to ring the doorbell. He found a note taped to the door handle.

The message, written in neat cursive handwriting, read: "I'm waiting for you in the back, David."

His breath caught in his throat. How did she know that he was coming there?

A cool breeze whispered around him, tinkling the wind chimes inside the veranda.

Feeling slightly light-headed, he walked around the side of the house.

He wandered into the rambling backyard, and it was like walking into a botanical garden. Bright flowers and lush plants grew everywhere. He saw a small figure moving amongst a flouris.h.i.+ng rose garden, in the far corner of the yard. That was where he headed.

He was unprepared to see what Pearl looked like. She appeared to be in her early twenties. She was short, perhaps five feet tall, and pet.i.te. Her l.u.s.trous black hair was woven into thin braids that hung to the middle of her back. She had large, almond-shaped brown eyes. Her smooth skin was the color of mocha. She wore a green tank top, denim shorts, and sandals.

She's like a black china doll, David thought. However, her beauty was not the sort that brought to mind swimsuit mod els or voluptuous women in hip-hop videos. Hers was the beauty of delicate features that were sculpted in perfect balance.

She looked at him, holding a yellow rose between her slender fingers. A large monarch b.u.t.terfly crept along the petals.

"I'm David Hunter," he said. "You called me yesterday."

She smiled. Her voice was soft and musical.

"Greetings, David Hunter. You arrived just when I thought you would."

"How did you know I was coming?"

"How did I know the sun would rise this morning? It was meant to happen"

He frowned. Was this what talking to her would be like? Sentences full of New Age babble?

Pearl c.o.c.ked her head and smiled.

She knows what I'm thinking, he thought. She knows that I'm a skeptic.

"Why did you call me?" he asked.

"Your name was given to me. I had not known that you had moved into the town, and I dialed the number not knowing whether anyone would answer. But of course, you did."

"What do you mean my name was given to you? By who?"

"I am a only receiver, David. I receive messages, and it is my responsibility to pa.s.s them to the intended party."

"So you get psychic radio waves or something."

She shrugged. "That's a crude a.n.a.logy, but yes." She sat gracefully on the ground, Indian style, a colorful wall of flowers behind her. "Sit with me, and rest"

He hesitated for a beat, then he sat, too. The scent of roses enveloped him.

Pearl twirled the yellow rose in her fingers. The b.u.t.terfly leapt from the petals and onto her knee, like a trained pet. She gently stroked its wings.

"You definitely like flowers and plants," he said. "It's like Calloway Gardens back here"

"It brings me peace," she said. "In life, we have to hold fast to that which comforts us. What comforts you, David Hunter?"

"Learning the truth"

"What if the truth is painful?" she said.

"Then I can deal with that. For me, not knowing hurts more than anything."

"It is your nature to seek the truth, at all costs. It is an admirable quality, but you will suffer much heartache because of it. Some truths are best left uncovered-like serpents sleeping beneath rocks"

"Such as?"

She only shook her head. The b.u.t.terfly crawled into her palm. She lifted her hand, and the insect fluttered away.

He wanted to get back to a focused line of questioning. This talk of the agony of learning the truth was not helping him.

He leaned forward. "On the phone, you said I was responsible, that I have to prepare. What did you mean, exactly?"

"It means what it means. The message is simple, David."

"But what am I responsible for?"

"It is being revealed to you. I cannot reveal it. Because I don't know."

"I thought you were supposed to be psychic?"

She smiled, but a thread of sadness ran through her expression. "Again, I am only a receiver. Sometimes the messages are quite detailed. At other times, they are vague. The communication is uniquely tailored for each recipient, based on what they need to hear."

"Well, mine was very vague. I feel like I've stumbled into an episode of The Twilight Zone."