ANGELS AND GHOSTS

The Abduction

Mia assumed that she should be used to it, because in the last few days, she’d been crippled by at least three massive migraines every day. Her head generally felt like the inflating balloon, expanding and pushing out until it reached its extremities, then it burst and crippled her, flattened her, leaving her in a crumpled heap.

On this day, another migraine was coming, she knew it; and as a precaution, she clutched the pills in her right hand and unscrewed the top off the bottle of water, because she wanted to be able to answer her cell when Rachael called. And she would call, she would, because Mia had stopped ringing her, choosing to send messages instead. And the messages weren’t pressure messages, they weren’t messages pleading with her to continue their fragile relationship, they were relevant messages, messages relevant to their current situation; -Hi, are you okay? … Hi, call me. … Hi, tell me what’s going on. … Rachael, please, tell me that youre alright.

Each day had Mia becoming more concerned, and they came for her, the headaches, and reduced her to a spluttering mess. She knew that they would keep coming though, because through the pain and the torment, Rachael’s implied threat kept ringing in her ears. If I see an opportunity …

*

Curious, Rachael thought. If her head count was correct, all staff had left, leaving Cummings as the only one unaccounted for.

Three hours later, she noted the time down; 10.23pm, and then she followed him to his home.

On the Friday, same again; all staff leaving before 6.30, Cummings staying for another three hours before driving home.

On the Saturday, the office was bustling, dozens of people coming and going through the morning and afternoon, Cummings being the only one to stay behind.

He locked up by 8.30 and returned home.

*

The next morning, Silvanio rang.

“You normally go in on a Sunday?”

“No.”

“Go in today.”

“Why?”

“When she left your house last night, she drove back and parked in a laneway near your office, and she was checking out the rear of the office.”

“What are you saying?”

“She’s casing the joint pal, looking for an off-street entry point.” he replied. “So you go in late afternoon, and then I wouldn’t be surprised if she made a move when it’s dark.”

“No, no way!”

“Ivan, to lure the prey, you set a trap. Your office is at the bottom end of the shopping strip, and there’s hardly anybody around on a Sunday night, so if she sees an opportunity, she might go for it.”

“No, hang on, I’m not comfortable being alone in my office and knowing that someone who wants to kill me, could be ready to make a move.”

“Relax pal; what was the threat she made?”

“Ummm, she was going to bury me in the State National Forest.”

“Hah, I gotta say that the bitch has got some balls; but relax okay, I’ve got your back, and tomorrow night I’ll hide somewhere in your office,” he began, “And if everything goes according to plan, the three of us, you, me and her will be going for a little drive.”

*

On the Sunday, Rachael sat at a park eight hundred yards away from his office, gazing up occasionally. The shopping strip was a thirty-minute parking zone during the weekdays, although on the Sunday, it was unrestricted. His black Toyota four-wheel drive sat directly outside his office. She was interested that he’d come in late on the Sunday afternoon, and even more interested that nobody else had appeared. “Who’d wanta be a politician!” she smirked.

Dusk was rolling in, the light from his office now more prominent. Rachael gazed around, noting that the main street was almost deserted, the fast-food outlets at the top end of the shopping strip being the only places that were still open.

‘Tonight’s the night?’ she wondered.

In her mind, she went over the timeline; scamper to the back alley, disengage his security system, then break the lock on the fairly simple back door. No-one will see me, tick … break in, sneak up and immobilise, tick …

Rachael leant back into the bench and the images came rushing into her mind; two thugs raping a sixteen-year-old girl, three times, the last rape possibly occurring while the girl was unconscious. “If you need to gear yourself up for this, just wear her shoes.” she whispered to herself.

Avenging Angel appeared, and Avenging Angel seemed hostile, but ready for duty. Sometimes Rachael didn’t want to be who she was, she wanted to be somebody else; although on this night, she was comfortable.

The final two, three or four hours of sixteen-year-old Jenny’s life were the nightmare that made Rachael who she was. Rachael had her own nightmare that she had to live with, but she had survived. Sixteen-year-old Jenny didn’t have to worry about snapping awake in the middle of the night, because she hadn’t survived. Rachael had seen Mia go under hypnosis and seemingly connect with the spirit of the girl, and on this night, Rachael wanted to connect with the spirit. Baby, Honey, you can look away or watch, it’s up to you … but tonight, justice will be served … Rachael looked at the black Toyota and whispered, “Hmmm, Mr Mayoral Candidate, feel like going for a drive tonight?”

Silvanio rang. “She’s still there.”

Nervous and edgy, Cummings mumbled, “In the park?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Relax, relax; be dark soon, so I’m coming in.”

“What?”

“Open the back door, I’m coming in.”

Rachael stared at the office, her mood darkening, because Catherine Clemens was in her mind.

Sure, the woman had been in tears when she recalled the events of that fateful night, and yes, maybe her life had been destroyed on that night, but she had kept it quiet for thirty years because she was scared shitless of the man in the office. Rachael knew that there was no big pay day coming from this one, no envelope bursting at the seams, this was a freebie, this was on the house, although she reflected, maybe this was also a conscience clearing exercise.

July the nineteenth, 2014.

A hovering light, an indistinct figure behind the light, or IN the light, and her perception of reality had altered forever. She did have occasion to think that she was fucked up anyway, and maybe she hadn’t seen a hovering light, maybe the fucked-up pieces of her mind were growing and expanding, blurring the line between reality and fantasy. Maybe in ten year’s time, the fucked-up bits would have taken over her entire mind, and then she’d be the lead story on the National News, because she’d go on a rampage and kill anybody she came across. Catherine Clemens floated back into her mind, teary, distraught, And I knew, I knew that he’d killed her …

Rachael gazed down at her backpack, doing a final mental check. Rag, chloroform, knife, rope, bottle of ink … then she gazed at her boots. Uncomfortable boots, men’s steel-toed, size nine works boots. If everything went according to plan, she would pour the ink on the carpet of the office and then leave incriminating footprints.

Rachael took her baseball cap off, bunched her hair up, slipped the hairnet on, the baseball cap then going back on. She slipped the gloves on, then stood.

“She’s moving.”

“Jesus.”

“Relax idiot, I’m here!” Silvanio stated. “Go and sit at your desk and try to look like you’re working, and I’ll slip into the toilet.”

Cummings sat down, and nervously picked up a file.

“Hey Ivan…”

“What?”

“I forget to tell you; I don’t do slops, so I’m first!” Silvanio said as he walked towards the toilet.

Cummings tried to concentrate, although bizarrely, he thought of the reason why he was in this situation; the girl, the sixteen-year-old runaway from Chicago.

Cummings loved sex, because quite simply, there was nothing better than sex. Achieving your ambitions, kissing your wife, watching your kids grow up, yeah, they were all gifts that life could produce, but sex was the stand-out. Thrusting and pumping, feeling like the most important person in the world, feeling like a God, and yeah, sex went to another level when you were able to introduce a little pain into the equation. Thrust, pump, ohhh yeah, and then whack, smack her one and hear the bitch scream. Even as a teenager, Cummings knew that he was an important person, although the stupid little bitches that he went to school with never seemed to realise that, and they would splutter, Ohhh, go away, you’re gross!

Girls never told him to go away after he’d pounded their heads in though.

Jenny from Chicago? Okay, they found her, but they’d never find the other two.

Mary from Bassington was in a dis-used well, and yeah, he’d done his civic duty on that occasion, because he had joined the search party when they looked for her twenty-one years ago. The other one from eight or nine years ago; gee, he couldn’t even remember her name, although he did remember her agonised cry; No, no, please don’t …

Cummings gazed across at the toilet door, the door slightly ajar, a big, powerful man standing behind the door. If some little bitch wanted to come for him, that was okay, because in reality, he’d like to see the bitch naked, because she was a fine specimen. As he thrust himself into her, he would ask, ‘Sorry, what were you going to do to me again?’

No, maybe not.

He knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t be able to communicate while it was happening, because humping and thrusting while you’re smashing someone’s head in took up your whole focus. A thought hit him; he’d already paid the money for the guy standing behind the door to kill this little bitch, but a more satisfying option might be if he did the deed himself. Strip her, tie her up, and okay, sure, Silvanio could go first, because he himself didn’t mind slops, not when blood was dribbling; and then hurt her, torture her, kill her slowly …

In a trance, another thought hit him, What’s more exciting; fucking or killing? He shook his head, knowing that it wasn’t a choice, for the combination of the two was the jewel in the crown.

A hushed whisper, “Hey…”

Snapped back to reality, Cummings shook his head, “What?”

“Turn the lights off.”

“Are you kidding?”

“She’ll be waiting for the lights to go off.”

Anxious yet expectant, Cummings turned off the main light.

Standing in the rear car park, fifty feet away, Rachael saw two lights turn off, only a dim light remaining. From her observations, she assumed that this was the entrance light which stayed on all night. She skipped across to the back door and fiddled, then tensed. What? Sunday evening and the back door is unlocked, and his car is out the front?

Slowly, she pushed the door open, ready to stop at the slightest noise or creak. With the fully doused rag in her hand, she crept down the darkened hallway until she saw his silhouette. She drew in a breath, then raced forward.