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ISBN: Softcover 978-1-5437-6228-0 eBook 978-1-5437-6229-7
THE VANISHING
Desperate for the truth, a woman in a black suit inserted a thin piece of metal into a desk drawer keyhole with one hand and a lock picking tool with the other. Like a thief, her fingers probed until the six pins clicked in the correct order.
“One problem solved.”
The FBI badge clipped on her belt reflected a glimmer of sunlight from the third-story New Orleans window. The rays highlighted the first half of her name plate on the adjacent desk—Special Agent Alexandra Chalamet.
“What’s under this mess?”
With a slight shove, she uncovered a tattered journal from the alcohol disenfected desk. A charcoal drawn, smudged sketch of a lady’s face with disheveled hair and eerie crimson eyes slipped out when she opened the cover.
Magnifique! His life-like artwork always impressed me, but I do not recognize this demonic-looking bottle of Louisiana pepper sauce.”
At the glimpse of a bloody smear, she stopped sifting the pages.
August 19th
With a nickname, Bonbon, and two aliases, I often hesitate when deciding which one my informant prefers. Rule number one—never use her real name. Today, she repulsed me, so I resorted to calling her Bebette, my little monster. Bebella, her other alias, means, my little doll.
Regardless of how I addressed her, the disciplinary toys she presented to me did not hinder her. Damn her one-person crusade to fix a society deficit of persuasive passion! In her mind, humanity exists without the ability to appreciate her larger-than-life responses.
Only the commonest yet most immoral of the torture devices she placed in my hands remain unused, an extra-large pair of black leather gloves. My attention turned to them during her calm moments when the dread trembled my bones. Like an electrical storm on the horizon, the fury within her threatened my end.
Aghast, Alexandra flinched back from the script as her thoughts raced. “I refuse to believe my partner would step into her trap.”
August 20th
The touching part of our exchange never wavered. Yet, of all the reassurance she once offered, I miss her understanding. Let her help me find my way through the infuriating crowds. Plus, those hypnotic eyes beckoned me louder than words. She cannot turn her deep-penetrating insight on herself. In hindsight, I long for either one of us to set personal boundaries. To my dismay, no matter how hard I try to avert her, she sides with her false spirit vice her devotion. Too late, I realized her tortured conscience guides her veracious soul on a tour of a bizarre realm. In her unhinged fantasy, she conspires with anyone she can manipulate to destroy those who injure her hypersensitive feelings. Still, I often empathize with my lover’s plight...
The mortified ten-year veteran of the Bureau clasp one hand over her mouth as she glanced away. Her palm grew hot from the forced exhale of her French pirate profanity.
“Sacrebleu! Did my secret love for him blind me? What if he caught on and wrote about me too?”
She lowered her head to conceal her blushed face and scanned down the rest of the page.
...Despite her distinctive beauty, eloquence, and emotional intellect, Bebelle boils in frustration at her own inability to inspire people to treat others with equality. If only those spells of adorable honesty might prevail, hope for us would anchor my wave tumbled life.
Today, for instance, her observations began with “truly.” In contrast, her psychotic breaks erupted like a slammed door to announce her defiance of me.
Like a bird feeding on a highway, the alert investigator’s eyes darted. Pale in the face, her gut wrenched as she scrutinized the familiar nameplate on her partner’s desk.
Somewhere else
My clobbered head considers this strange.
How far from home did I range?
How can my eyes see so well?
Quick fleeting spirits they dispel.
Whose jungle is this? I can’t imagine.
Herein my alien life is cast.
Tell me now, how long will this last?
-Jonathan M. Smith
My defiant instinct not to breathe overcame the agony of running out of air. On the verge of losing consciousness, however, my brain grasped at a false optimism and clung to the desperate fallacy, “One breath might save me.”
The inescapable water rushed my vocal cords like an offensive gridiron lineman, triggering the immediate contraction of my larynx. I died, according to the glimpse of hell at the end of my collapsing tunnel vision.
The next thing I remember, I gagged up the terrifying mouthful of water from the virgin pond I crawled out of. To my surprise, a coarse tongue across my mouth and nose delivered me from a head rush.
Weakened, I knelt on my hands and knees to allow my foggy mind to grapple with the vanished time.
Silt blurred my attempt to focus on a bizarre frog until the startled croaker slipped off a lily pad. I wiped my eyes in time to behold the brilliant foliage animate in an assortment of fragrent lilac and rose scented blooms. Every strand searched the breeze like tentacles.
“Is this an illusion? I died, at least according to the glimpse of hell at the end of my tunneled vision.”
The warm draft began to dry my black mane. “Black mane! What the…! What is this place?”
Not quick enough for my comfort, my pupils adjusted to the faint light. Exhausted, I relaxed on the delicate moss. The natural bed revived my primal awareness. In the place of my clothes, hair, smooth as a mink covered much of my chiseled body. An astonishing bare six-pack abdomen crunched to lift my incredible torso over the glassy water.
Up to this point, who would complain about extraordinary physical fitness? Yet, like a scene from a nightmare, my horrific image startled me into a Herculean jump.
Of course, the domino effect toppled me when my head struck an overhead limb twice my height above the ground. While the throbbing subsided, I stumbled around, sightless, tripping over a cypress root. Annoyance set in as the recesses of my mind left nothing to ransack.
At first, I thought the sensation of ringing in my pointed ears would not stop. The hum, instead, came from a couple dozen insects forty meters away from me. Curiosity moved me to stroke my lobes. In every direction, tiny noises amplified. Far above me, the flutter of a hovering bird’s wings filled the air.
My beefed-up nostrils brought each airborne molecule to life. Straightaway, I spied a jewel-crowned obelisk, casting its long shadow on me. Intricate letters and symbols illuminated. The facets of this eighteen-thousand-carat gemstone sparkled with amber light. Two of the hieroglyphs brightened and dimmed with a perpetual rhythm, all the while humming with a mysterious purpose.
All fascination aside, the echoes of the alien night sidetracked me from the granite erection.
“Hmm, unfamiliar creatures. What licked my face!”
A twig broke and I spun around. My gape exposed the dim silhouette of an elegant feline form.
Like a conqueror, she vanquished the tears from her cheek with her tongue and stretched her sleek frame along the ground. Elbows to the ground, she retracted her five-inch claws. Instinct unfurled her graceful tail high above her raised hips. A comforting purr reverberated from the throat of this alluring half leopard. Incapable of reconnecting with her eyes, my hungry gaze fixed on her cleavage. More tempting than perfume, her scent aroused me.
A soft voice in my head spoke with a sultry tone. “What dominant eyes! You must be the Mandagral.”
To my surprise, I owned this identity. My response lingered unspoken. “Lovely creature of the night, your presence begs me. Who are you?”
“Should title count, refer to me as Innocent One. Otherwise, I am Kiisu of the Mandragora. From this moment, consider me everything-you-need.”
“A mind reader, marvelous!”
On Earth
August 21st
This is my deepest regret—my betrayed heart left me devoid of the truth. To compound the problem, my injury branded me an incompetent rescuer. Like a rabbit trapped in a crippling snare, she struggled in an uninterruptable panic. All my pity for Bebette caused her to loathe me. Every intervention I contrived demanded a lie. A time came when only drunkenness calmed her. After she sobered up and began to detox, she blamed demons for her predicament.
Mindful of her reputation as a force for virtue, her followers accepted her misdirection. In futility, they rationalized how a priest might exorcise away the evil spirits.
With her heart attempting to escape her chest, the agent glossed over years of legal studies. Rapidly multiplying uneasy thoughts leaped through the potential consequences her suspected confidant might face.
To her dismay, a flurry of searchers animated the once sluggish offices, prompting her to guard her compromised state. Unable to release the incomplete diary, she intended to read further, but a gruff male voice interrupted her.
“What are you doing, Agent Chalamet?”
“Sorry, but I’m going through his desk for clues to his disappearance, boss. What, however, in God’s creation, explains his vanishing in front of so many witnesses?”
She drew her legs together and she tightened her stance. “One more entry for now...”
August 22nd
Every pen stroke, each dab of cologne, the placement on my pillow next to hers before she awoke rivaled a Hallmark moment. Make me child-like, O Lord. This childish life, I cannot afford. A cursed life puts thorns in the heart. I pray, God, help me change. Please, my thoughts rearrange, from this pain let me depart.
“Dear God, how naïve of me,” she thought.
Unexpectedly, the captain walked back in, causing Alexandra to crumple the innocent page. “Does his journal warrant such a choking grip?”
Given no chance to hide the diary, she closed the evidence with the same care a mother would cradle a baby.
As he extended his hand, she surrendered her world-shattering discovery.
In a careless rush, he thumbed through the entries. Out of character, a broad mouthed gasp distorted his face. With a tilt of his head toward Alexandra, he scratched above his right ear. “Dang, he hooked up with some hottie. In any case, I can’t help but wonder about the call he received from the Skull Collector before he disappeared. Let’s check his recording machine.”
The sly investigator diverted his attention. “Let’s pull up his cell phone history too.”
Distracted, he tossed the tragic document in his inbox and motioned for her to follow him.
ns 15.158.61.12da2
