Chapter 12
Annie and Doug were announced and they entered the study. De Roché sat with his back to them. He did not turn but simply addressed them from his vantage point in the plush leather chair. The only part of the man that was visible was the back of his head and the neatly-groomed shock of iron-gray hair that covered it.
Chapter 11
Annie needed to think. She should not have taken the drugs. But she’d been angry at Doug and she’d done it out of defiance. Now she was sorry. Her actions had reminded her of the other Annie, the Annie she’d left inside the walls of this soulless house more than a decade ago. That Annie was not the woman she was today; confident, self assured, happy. The other Annie was sullen and pensive and almost always afraid; a little girl who had hidden in her room and had welcomed the dreams because reality was so painful.
This is an especially long chapter. Some of you have said that you want more each week, so I decided to group a few chapters together as one and see how it works. Let me know what you think.
Enjoy,
Mark
Chapter 10
August 12, 1996. Regressive Therapy
“To the best of my knowledge the visions began when I was nine years old,” Doug said, “and I always associated them with that punch Tommy Ricker gave me in the nose. I could be wrong about that but I don’t think so because there is not a conscious memory of anything even remotely similar to those experiences before that day. From then on it seemed that I was in possession of some terrible power of sight, something that would haunt my life for years to come. I tried to dismiss it, I tried to deny it, but every time I became complacent something would happen that reminded me of who I was and of the terrible things I was capable of seeing. Yes, it all began the day Tommy Ricker broke my nose.”
Chapter 9
The chopper landed right on schedule. Jennings was shown to a waiting car. He got in and sat back trying to relax. But there was no way in hell he could. All his muscles were tensed and his mind worried. Spencer seemed quite anxious to pin these deaths on McArthur? McArthur was a suspect; there was no doubt about it. But perhaps he was more than a suspect. What if the government had been watching him since—? The thought struck Jennings suddenly that perhaps they’d never taken their eyes off him. Yes, it was a definite possibility. Frankly Jennings was a little surprised they’d waited this long to make their move. He supposed that guys who could see the kinds of things McArthur could see were valuable. Sure they were. Doug’s was a rare gift and the government wanted to dissect him, to see what made him tick, and they were looking for an excuse to grab him. Jennings was suddenly and absolutely certain of it. McArthur would be a hell of a guinea pig for those CIA spooks to dissect.