THE SECOND SIGHT
Chapter 47
THE WEEPING MAN
The lamp-post had been quite near the Mercedes, and thus the tall man almost fell down at the feet of his squat friend.
That uncouth character had managed to take the fine wallet of the gentleman in the tux, and was holding his knife up, a startled look on his face.
I had almost forgotten him as I ran toward the broken man on the ground, but he obviously thought I was coming for him, and he turned yellow. Of course most of those bullies were all yellow inside, and only dared to do what they did by sheer intimidation.
He dropped his knife and the wallet, bounced over the hood of the Mercedes, and took to his heels, short arms pumping and thick thi-ghs working. He would have cut a comical figure on any other day, but not then.
I knelt beside the crumpled man and felt his pulse. The blood came from his nose, which was so squashed that I grimaced.
There were raised voices behind me and then the uniformed security men appeared. They looked at the downed man with shock written all over their faces.
SECURITY OFFICER 1
sh*t! Call an ambulance, Bill. This guy’s face looks like spaghetti.
Which, in a way, sounded quite ironic.
The cops and the ambulance arrived almost at the same time.
They questioned me, and my story was corroborated by my friend in the tux. The Chief Inspector was an obese man with a pot-belly the size of a soccer field.
He was sure I had hit the man with something and demanded that I own up. The level of injury, he contended, was too extensive to have been caused by mere hands.
My new friend served as an undisputable source of first-hand witness, and in the end the chief had to take it at that, but he couldn’t resist the parting shot that I report to the station first thing in the morning.
The ambulance took the wounded as-sailant away, and the police chief drove away with his deputies.
And then, at long last, I was left alone with the man.
The effect of the alcohol had worn off somewhat, and he looked at me in a dazed way. I had gathered during the questioning that his name was Guy Grant, a relatively rich man who had inherited a fortune from his father.
He was considered an authority in the town, and not many people wanted to offend him, the local police chief inclusive.
He held out a slender manicured hand.
GUY GRANT
(awed)
Thanks for saving me back there. That man was a lunatic. I was sure he wasn’t just going to take the money. He wanted to cut my face up, and had started making his intentions clear when you sent the other one raining down on us. Man, are you Spiderman or something? That was the most god-awful stunt I ever saw anyone pulling.
I looked down at my hands. The sheen was gone, of course.
I was still shaken though, as I finally accepted the fact that whatever gift I had been given was still operational.
I had seen those eyes in the window, and somehow, in the face of eminent death, I had been endowed with a strength as potent as the biblical Samson had possessed.
My head was bursting with a lot of unanswered questions, and more than anything else I wished I could see Paul Anderson.
He could provide the missing pieces of the jigsaw and make sense out of the craziness I found myself in.
GUY GRANT
You staying at the hotel, Mr. Boat? I’ll be more than happy to accommodate you at my house. It is a ranch, more like, and I feel quite lonely sometimes all alone there.
I looked at him, and I shot the question at him.
I wanted to be sure if he was my man, and if somehow I had made a mistake and he wasn’t the man I was looking for, then I had to move on.
BOAT
(ti-ghtly)
You’re having problems in your life, right? You’re a sad man, even though I hear you’re quite rich. Life not going well for you, is it? Having problems with demons or spirits, principalities? Are you being supernaturally bothered?
The smile vanished from his face, and he glared at me with sudden hostile eyes.
GUY GRANT
(bitterly)
Ah, so you heard the local love story, huh?
His voice had frosted over. He turned away from me abruptly and yanked the door of his car open.
I caught his arm and turned him round.
BOAT
(gently)
I’ve heard nothing, You saw what I did, man. Maybe I can help you.
He looked at me a moment longer, handsome face defiant and just a little bit petulant, and then he did a most astonishing thing.
He began to bawl.
He cried so violently and so pas-sionately that I was quite taken aback. The hurt poured from him in waves, and my heart went out to him. I wondered how one little frame like his could hold so much pain.
I didn’t know him well enough to hold him, and so all I did was pat his back. He was bent almost double across the hood of his car, and his whole frame shook with the depths of his outpour.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, he eased off a little and took great wheezing breaths.
His face was all puffed up as if he had been stung by killer bees, and way down in his nose I could hear trapped snot gurgling each time he exhaled. He took out a hu-ge handkerchief and blew his nose noisily. He looked at me, and there was no shame on his face.
GUY GRANT
(quietly)
I nee-ded to that, Lord, I should have done that a long time ago.
He smiled shakily, and tears shimmered in his eyes again, and for one horrible moment I thought he was going to start bawling his head off again.
He chuckled, shaking his head slowly.
GUY GRANT
(sadly)
You want to help? No one can help, man. Even God has given up. Come, let me take you home, and I’ll tell you the story of my life.
BOAT
(persistent)
Are there demons in it?
I was still persistent because I didn’t want to waste valuable time.
He didn’t blink.
GUY GRANT
(dejectedly)
Yes, man, it is all about demons, yes, spiritual things, yes.
It was my turn to nod.
BOAT
(ti-ghtly)
Then, Mr. Grant, you’ll waste my time and yours if you take me to your house. Tell me your story. Now.
THE SAD CASE OF SAMANTHA GAISIE
So we sat down in his Mercedes.
It had the scent of a new car, and had all the fine trimmings that a man of taste would wish for in a car.
His story, if nothing else, chilled me to the bone.
It was all about a sweet lady called Samantha Gaisie he had fallen in love with, and whose wedding day had been marred by the worst nightmare a loving groom could ever encounter.
GUY GRANT
(sadly)
Sam was sweet; as sweet as apples on a cold harmattan night.
He leaned his head back against the headrest, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, but returning often to grip it depending on where the story took him.
GUY GRANT
Used to date one of my friends, but he was kind of an as***ole, you know, always beating her up and making her sad. I used to console her, see, take her out sometimes and buy things for her. None of us wanted it to happen, ‘cause Steve Poku, my pal, was a man we both respected, but man, those things happen. Me, I had never met any woman I cared more about than Sam. So, before anything could happen between us, we let Steve know. I didn’t want the guy to think I was sli-pping one to his girlfriend on the side whilst his back was turned. See, he also had about three other girls on the side. I’m not saying that’s any kind of excuse, but c’mon, these things happen, as I said.
Also read – The Second Sight – Episode 19
They had told Steve Poku about it, and the man had gone ballistic.
He had as-saulted Samantha, and threatened to kill her. The cops came for him, and he would have had it bad, but Grant had come in, and a deal had been worked out. Steve agreed to leave town, and all charges were dropped.
GUY GRANT
(despairingly)
It hurt us all, but hey, that’s the power of love, right? Anyway, as it turned out, Steve had the last laugh, the prick. As soon as he left town things settled down, and we started planning for the wedding. It took place exactly three months after Steve moved on, right in the Methodist Church of Jackson Peak.
We had exchanged the vows and the rings, and I had ki-ssed her, and all our pals were screaming and applauding, right, and then guess who decided to put in an appearance!
And at that stage a cold ball crept into my gut, because I knew what was coming next.
Steve Poku had burst into the church premises screaming that he had a present for his two friends.
No one tried to stop him as he walked toward the newlyweds because he was holding a gun.
He had screamed out expletives and raining obscene insults on them, and his gun had remained unwaveringly on the newlyweds.
He stopped about five steps from them, pushed the gun into his own mouth, and blew his br@ins away.
GUY GRANT
(cleaning tears from his cheeks)
Man, it was a bad day! Man, it was terrible. What happened next was unbelievable. There was Steve, falling down with half his head gone, blood everywhere, and suddenly Sam screamed! She began to rake her nails down her face, cutting it into many bloody lines. I tried to stop her, but she had suddenly turned into a tigress. sh*t, a lot of strong guys reached out to stop her, but fuc-k me if she didn’t bring all of them down. She seemed to have the strength of ten men. She to-re off her dress, and fixed her hands on my ne-ck. I tell you, she would’ve choked the life right out of me if the pastor hadn’t hit her with a bible or a cross, something like that, and shouted Jesus, Jesus, Jesus at her. She fled from the church, bu-tt nak-ed. A search party found her half drowned three days later, her body cut at all places. They took her to hospital, but a week later she almost killed a doctor, and wounded seven nurses.
Guy Grant grips the steering-wheel ti-ghtly and weeps.
I allowed him to free his soul because by then the tingling in my body had become a dull throb, and I knew, somehow, that he was my man.
He continued his story shortly, with pauses in-between.
People had started saying Samantha Gaisie had been possessed by demons.
They had taken her to the Jackson Peak catholic parish, ten kilometers outside the town. Guy Grant had brou-ght in seasoned men of God from all over the globe, but exorcism after exorcism had failed.
Her condition had deteriorated so much that she was kept in a reinfor-ced room with steel doors, and fed throu-ghtiny holes in the door. Special prayers had been said for her, and men of God still worked on her, but none dared now to enter that room.
Reason?
She had attacked the last group of exorcists that dared enter her cell.
One was paralyzed from the ne-ck down. She had broken the legs of one so badly that both legs had been amputated. One’s face had been mutilated badly, both eyes gouged out, and would always be a source of screaming fit for young children.
The last one simply went mad, and would spend a great part of his remaining years in an asylum.
That had happened two years ago.
GUY GRANT
(shattered)
She’s now known as the Demon of the Parish. If you stay here long enough, you’ll hear terrible tales about her, even some as offensive as how she ate people alive. She’s beyond help now, my friend. But I love her. I’ll always love her.
He did not bawl this time, but kept his li-ps ti-ghtly pressed together as tears coursed down his cheeks.
His li-ps trembled violently, though. It was a terrible thing seeing him like that…face absolutely still, tears running down his cheeks and his li-ps moving so violently that they seemed to have a life of their own.
I knew what he was going throu-gh.
I had experienced it the night my father died.
BOAT
(gently)
Take me to her, Guy.
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even look at me.
GUY GRANT
(flatly)
No. Never. She will kill you.
BOAT
I can help, man.
GUY GRANT
(tortured)
No, my friend, I can’t have you too on my conscience. I can’t take it.
I laid my hand on his arm again, and he finally looked at me. I didn’t know what he saw on my face, but his eyes wide-ned perceptively, and he seemed a little confused.
BOAT
(firmly)
Guy, take me to her. Now.
His eyes searched my face, and for a moment I saw a little spark of life in those tormented orbs that lit his face. He was absolutely frightened, but love for the woman finally won, and he nodded finally.
GUY GRANT
(tremulously)
Sure, I will take you to her, but un-der no circu-mstances are we unlocking the door for you, my friend. You’ll have to look at her throu-gha wire mesh in the iron door as I do.
I didn’t argue. That was fine with me.
But as he started the hu-ge car and it rolled out of the entrance my heart began to pound, and my hands became damp.
I had failed with my own father.
How could I face what lay ahead of me?
Questions. Always questions, but I received no answers for them. I wished I could turn back, but that for-ce that had kept me focused as soon as I hit Jackson Peak still reigned supreme, taking over my will and urging me forward.
As we left the town behind and the darkness swallowed the car I finally admitted that I was plain scared.
We didn’t talk much as the big car ate up the miles.
He was hunched over the wheel, gripping it too ti-ghtly and going just a little bit too fast. His face was ashen, as if being for-ced to re-live his nightmare had drained all the blood from him.
He turned off the main road shortly after we left the town behind. The road he took was good but winding, and it seemed to be rising gradually. The headlights picked up rocky terrain and sparse vegetation. Now and then the headlights picked up the ghoulish green eyes of nocturnal beasts.
TBc…