THE SECOND SIGHT
Chapter 46
FIRST STEPS
I had once watched a silly movie where humans beings had been possessed by some crazy alien beings that burst right out of the tummies of their human hosts.
What I was feeling was almost like that, but it was worse because I could feel that movement from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.
It made my breath come out in shallow wheezes and sweat stood out on my face.
BOAT
Nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure.
I fumbled a key into my door.
NICOLE
(softly)
Yaw. Are you okay? You don’t look too good.
I turned I saw the sudden concern on her lovely face.
BOAT
I’m perfectly fine. I feel just a little bit tired. I will turn in immediately if you don’t mind.”
She nodded, her face still looking concerned.
NICOLE
Alright then. You have a good sleep. Should I order a light snack for you?
BOAT
No, thanks, Nicole. I’m good. See you in the morning.
I had to hold on ti-ghtly to the door to stop myself from falling. I was suddenly overcome by strong nausea.
I entered the room quickly and shut it. I groped for the light switch, turned on the lovely shaded lights above, and then rushed to the bathroom.
I leaned over the sink and retched horribly, but apart from a thin line of spittle, nothing came out. The feeling within me was bad now. It was a roiling, boisterous, sizzling thing that made me tremble all over.
I groped my way to the room again.
It was comfortably furnished, and the sheets on the bed looked and smelt nice as I sank to my knees in front of the bed and put my face on it. I M0-ned de-ep in my throat, an agonized sound that begged for release.
BOAT
(dejectedly)
What the fuc-k is happening to me now?
And then I felt it.
The tingling un-der my skin stopped, and something within me moved – pulled , actually – toward an object. It was like a dog straining at a leash. I felt another presence, felt eyes on me, probing, seeking, questioning.
I raised my head suddenly…and there it was!
Just across from the bed tall French windows led to a balcony. The lights on the balcony were not on, and it looked absolutely dark and forbidden out there.
But as I watched they appeared…three crimson eyes, thin and sickle-shaped, two up and the other a few inches below.
Eyes that seemed to drip blood; eyes that were filled with loathing and hatred so fierce that I found it very ha-rd looking into them, and I wished I had never seen them.
Just the three crimson eyes. And then, suddenly, claws appeared on the glas-s, as if whatever it was had leaned forward for a better view. The demonic eyes suddenly seemed to bulge with a mixture of fear, shock and hatred.
The fury was a sudden explosion in my che-st.
My skin tingled violently, and I lurched off the ground and wove my way toward it.
In another second it was gone, and as I fumbled the lockers off the window and slid them open I knew with a sinking feeling that the damn ugly demon was gone.
I rushed unto the balcony, and looked all around, but saw nothing but blackness. The breeze hit my face, drying my sweat as I once again dry-heaved across the balustrade. After a while my heart stopped thudding and my nerves stabilized a bit. I turned away and walked groggily back to the room.
Thirty minutes later I was showered and dressed in black trousers and a clean grey shirt.
The terrible war in my veins was now a settled rhythm, humming softly, waiting to be released.
Now I knew what it was.
Somewhere in this little town there was evil, and it had somehow triggered off the raw power in me. I had not expected it, but now it was upon me. That thing had come for me, ready to unleash the next generation of terror on me, but it had seen something – or felt something – and it had fled.
But I knew it would be here in Jackson Peak. I wouldn’t have been able to explain how I knew it was here in the town, but I knew. I was beginning to experience and recognize the tiny signals that went with my gift, and to follow the trail left by the decay, tracking down the motherf*¢kers like some Indian dog.
It was in town, and I would find it.
I left my room and locked the door. I made my way quietly to the reception.
Somehow, somewhere, I would find that thing before the dawn came. I knew without being told that it was time for war. I could have slept, or gone to Nicole and spent half the night chatting, but I couldn’t have stopped myself going after that thing even if I had wanted to.
There was the fear of bungling it again, like I had done with my father.
I still couldn’t un-derstand why I had botched up when it really mattered. de-ep down the fear was a bitter bile that tainted my soul, but the war was there for me to tread on.
It was inevitable, and it was not negotiable.
As I was beginning to find out, I couldn’t have stopped myself from going after that three-eyed mysterious demon even if I had wanted to. The battle was here, and I was going to fight it, and my will had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Welcome to the life of the Unblinds!
A short corridor from the reception led to hu-ge glas-s doors that opened unto the bar and eatery. There was a sizeable crowd sitting at glas-s-topped tables either drinking or eating as a five-man jazz band provided soulful tunes to the right of the bar.
Waitresses in short blue skirts, ti-ght white shirts tied just below their br£-$ts and pert little caps moved between the tables, frozen smiles on their faces, their trays precariously balanced but being handled with expertise.
I paused just inside the doors and looked around. A dimly-lit sign above another glas-s door to the left of the bar said “To Games”. I imagined green-topped billiard tables in there, or maybe a card table where a little gambling went on.
The clientele were mostly well-dressed, the conversation muted, the chuckles cultured, dainty napkins discreetly lifted to dab aristocratic li-ps. Hotel Bliss obviously was a step above your average little town hotel.
I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I looked anyway. I could have gone outside and began my search by any number of ways, but something de-ep down had guided me here, and that same invisible radar was now dictating the pace and making me stay calm as my eyes roved the tables and the people.
There was no way to explain it; it was like a child taking his first steps. That inward urge was there, and when the time came, after he had crawled and made a mess of himself for a spell of time, he would get up and take those first tentative tottering steps, arms held out for balance; and then, soon afterward, the steps would be firmer, surer, and following closely after that would be running.
I had done with crawling now, and I was taking the first steps.
Soon my feet would fly…and I had started hunting down the demons.
The minions first, for target practice….and then I would face the Legion!
The current jazz piece came to an end.
There was respectable applause, but again it was done gently and neatly to fit the general unreal aura about the place.
Also read – The Second Sight – Episode 60
My eyes roved the tables, taking in the carefully made-up faces of the ladies and the groomed pristine appearances of the men. There were no odd lights, no ultra sheens or demonic exhibitions. Nothing.
My eyes went to the bar. A group of about four or five men was to the right of the bar, and a couple of giggling ladies were to the left … and between these two groups was the man.
He was dressed in an excellent black tux. He had been half-turned in his seat to watch the jazz band, and now he turned to his glas-s and beckoned to the barman.
He was slightly-built with a narrow handsome face.
The bartender placed a full glas-s in front of the man and took an empty one away. The man lifted his glas-s, raised it a little higher in a mock toast to the two girls and drank it in a gulp.
He was my man…either a target host or a link to the target.
It was as simple as that. Even from across the room I could feel the sadness coming off him in droves; I could almost experience it as it crashed throu-ghme, threatening to break my heart. It was as if an alien presence had invaded me and was bawling madly in there.
It was so unexpected and so unpleasant that I reeled backward and leaned against the wall weakly. I pushed myself upright again with a mighty effort, and I felt the sting of tears on my lashes.
Lord, what the hell was that?
I had no time to dwell on it, though.
The man had gotten off the high stool. He took out a wallet, and even from where I was standing I could see that it was stuffed with bills. He pulled out one and slapped it on the table.
He then turned and made his way toward the entrance. He wasn’t quite steady on his feet, and I as-sumed that he might have downed other glas-ses of liquor before I saw him.
Behind him two men peeled away from the group at the bar and followed him.
I noticed that they were not as well-dressed as other patrons. They were big men, maybe truckers, and their faces wore the calculated masks of greedy men.
They had seen that wallet, and the bills in them had prodded the evil roots in their souls.
The man in the tux pas-sed me; I noticed that he wasn’t so young. Probably in his late thirties, and he was drunk. He seemed to be popular because he received a lot of greetings from the tables he pas-sed. I allowed the two men to rush by, and then I followed them.
One was squat, his hu-ge thi-ghs straining in the confines of the jeans he was wearing. He was wearing a black T-shirt un-derneath his red coat, and I could see his barrel-che-st rippling beneath.
A wholly mean man, and a dangerous adversary. His companion was tall and broad-shouldered, completely bald. His hu-ge hands kept flexing as he followed his quarry. His grey suit was decent, but his face wasn’t. He had the ratchet face of a man who had survived the violent way, and who was not new to death.
Two very capable men. I wished I had a weapon of some sort. Dealing with them was not going to be easy, and unless there was an element of surprise and cold brutality involved, I just might not be able to cope with them despite the fact that I was very good in GojuFist fist, a form of brutal martial arts of African origin.
My man took a side entrance instead of the main door. A neon light above the door read PARKING LOT.
The two men hurried after him. I pushed throu-gha throng of late guests – young men and women who could have been students on a night spree – and ran to the door. A brightly-lit corridor led to another open door at the end. The tall man’s shoulders went throu-gh, and I quickened my steps.
A flight of short stairs led to a neat parking lot. Slanted white paintings marked parking spaces. Shaded bulbs on elegant poles cast warm glows on the park.
My man was walking rapidly toward a hu-ge Mercedes parked near the main entrance of the park. A few steps behind him was the squat man. The bald man was standing quite still, turning his head in all directions to look out for possible trouble.
And so he saw me approaching.
He summed up the situation pretty quickly, and suddenly a long-bladed knife appeared in his hand.
I slowed down and did a quick survey of my own.
No hotel security around, and no visible cameras either. I swore briefly un-der my breath. One would have thought that a hotel as nice as this would be swarming with thick security.
Was it a peaceful town where little violence ever took place? The men could be outsiders, and could be gone in flash once the mugging or robbery was over.
Over his shoulders I saw that the short man had reached my man and was rushing. He grabbed the slight man and threw him against the side of the Mercedes. A hu-ge paw was clamped on the mouth of the startled man, and a knife point was thr-ust against his throat.
BOAT
(anxious)
Damn!
I closed in.
The tall man advanced fluidly on me, lithe on his feet, his sneer as despicable as his face.
TALL MAN
(with a nasty chuckle)
Sticking your pretty little nose into my business, eh mister? Okay, pretty boy. Come to papa! Come and get your spaghetti face!
Normally I would have gone in carefully – extra carefully – to test his expertise with that knife.
It was always good to see Steven Seagal breaking up the limbs of knife-wielding fiends in films, but when you’re faced with the reality on a deserted parking lot in a strange little tidy town, it becomes a different prospect altogether.
But as I was beginning to find out fast, there wasn’t anything ‘normal’ about the night.
I waded into that fight without so much as a care or an inkling of fear in my heart. There was a tingling un-der my skin again, and as I looked down I noticed that my hands were glowing.
It wasn’t that brilliant glow of the for-ce-field, though. This was more like a sheen, as if something a little extra had been waxed unto my skin.
The man moved in, and the knife came honing toward my gut. Instinctively my right hand parried the knife hand aside and I moved in with my own quick right blow to the face.
That was just how it should have happened: a parry, and a return blow that should have dazed him, or shaken a tooth or two loose.
I heard the snapping sound first, and that man’s howl of pain next.
It dawned on me, even as my fist was moving toward his face, that my harmless parry had broken his arm right clean!
The bone had snapped like a dry twig, and that caused me at the last moment to try and stay my blow aimed at his face.
That action obviously saved his life, because even though I tried to draw back my fist at the last moment, and thus hit him with a lot less power than I initially intended, the blow blew him back with the power of a hurricane, smashing him into one of the lamp-posts with such for-ce that the post caved inward.
He lay there, a crumpled heap, and there was so much blood on his face that for a moment I thought his skull had broken into millions of fragments.
Dazedly, it dawned on me…
The Unblinds did not have natural power!
They possessed something a lot more awful!
TBc….