admit, she shocked the hell out of me when she first called. But, I’m so glad I was willing to meet with her. She’s a great lady.” Tracy sighed, the memory of Sandra still lingering in her mind. “Anyway, enough about me. What about you? Do you have a big family?”
The figure oozed forward, the hatred emanating from it suffocating Celeste as it hovered near Tracy. “What’s your real mother’s name?”
Celeste sensed a sudden shift in Tracy. Felt her unease and distrust. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious. I like you. I want to know about you. Maybe I misinterpreted our phone conversation, but I thought you might like me, too.”
Tracy relaxed, and her earlier excitement at the prospect of a possible relationship returned. “Her name is Sandra.”
Black wisps of smoke reached out and touched Tracy’s face. “Sandra,” it repeated, its voice deadened, hollow. “She’s a fucking whore.”
Tracy gasped and drew back. The figure grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair and dragged her from the bench.
Pain radiated from Celeste’s scalp. Terror filled her to the depths of her soul. She didn’t have time to consider why she was suddenly experiencing Tracy’s physical pain, as the figure dragged Tracy’s body off the bench.
Tracy kicked out and her leg connected with the bench, which toppled over and smashed into the piano. The figure let go of Tracy’s hair, then quickly produced a gun. “Get up.”
Tracy shook her head. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’d tell you to ask Sandra, but she’s as good as dead. Now get up.”
“You killed her?” The deep sadness settling on Tracy made Celeste ache, especially when Tracy’s quick memories of her real mother ran through her mind. The apprehension of meeting Sandra, then later the love and friendship the two women had developed.
“Not yet.” The figure waved the gun. “She should have never looked for you. The slut should have left the past buried. She should have continued to pretend you never existed.” The figure kicked her in the stomach, causing Tracy to double over and Celeste to catch her breath. Then it raised the butt of the gun, and smashed it against Tracy’s head.
Celeste was plunged into darkness. She could no longer hear Tracy’s whispered thoughts, and wished she could wake the woman up and tell her to fight. Trapped in Tracy’s body, afraid that she might not find a way out and back to her own reality, she recalled Maxine’s words.
Remember, what you’re seeing isn’t real. It’s a plane of the past, present or future… Don’t let the vision control you. It’s in your head.
She wanted to know what happened to Tracy, but was worried she wouldn’t be able to escape the woman’s body before it was too late. Celeste also remembered how she’d used thoughts of John to help ground her earlier today. As she summoned his image—the warmth and love she knew she could count on from him—water began to surround her legs again and slowly rose.
Celeste relaxed in the darkness, gave the vision time to disappear and her own reality to return. After a few moments passed and the water lapped against her chin, she slowly opened her eyes. Then panicked when she looked at the naked body that didn’t belong to her, and at the claw foot bathtub that was the total opposite to Celeste’s modern garden tub.
“You never should have been born,” the figure yelled.
Tracy’s sluggish mind met with Celeste’s. The woman’s fear tore her in two as black hands pressed down on Tracy’s face, then shoved her under the water, smacking her head against porcelain. The water distorted the ever-changing unnatural and monstrous figure. Ignoring the way the cold water stung her eyes, Tracy gripped at the hands now pressing against her shoulders and holding her under the surface. She twisted her body. Her foot connected with the faucet, sending a sharp pain up her leg. The figure moved over her, pushed its knee against her stomach
The figure oozed forward, the hatred emanating from it suffocating Celeste as it hovered near Tracy. “What’s your real mother’s name?”
Celeste sensed a sudden shift in Tracy. Felt her unease and distrust. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious. I like you. I want to know about you. Maybe I misinterpreted our phone conversation, but I thought you might like me, too.”
Tracy relaxed, and her earlier excitement at the prospect of a possible relationship returned. “Her name is Sandra.”
Black wisps of smoke reached out and touched Tracy’s face. “Sandra,” it repeated, its voice deadened, hollow. “She’s a fucking whore.”
Tracy gasped and drew back. The figure grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair and dragged her from the bench.
Pain radiated from Celeste’s scalp. Terror filled her to the depths of her soul. She didn’t have time to consider why she was suddenly experiencing Tracy’s physical pain, as the figure dragged Tracy’s body off the bench.
Tracy kicked out and her leg connected with the bench, which toppled over and smashed into the piano. The figure let go of Tracy’s hair, then quickly produced a gun. “Get up.”
Tracy shook her head. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’d tell you to ask Sandra, but she’s as good as dead. Now get up.”
“You killed her?” The deep sadness settling on Tracy made Celeste ache, especially when Tracy’s quick memories of her real mother ran through her mind. The apprehension of meeting Sandra, then later the love and friendship the two women had developed.
“Not yet.” The figure waved the gun. “She should have never looked for you. The slut should have left the past buried. She should have continued to pretend you never existed.” The figure kicked her in the stomach, causing Tracy to double over and Celeste to catch her breath. Then it raised the butt of the gun, and smashed it against Tracy’s head.
Celeste was plunged into darkness. She could no longer hear Tracy’s whispered thoughts, and wished she could wake the woman up and tell her to fight. Trapped in Tracy’s body, afraid that she might not find a way out and back to her own reality, she recalled Maxine’s words.
Remember, what you’re seeing isn’t real. It’s a plane of the past, present or future… Don’t let the vision control you. It’s in your head.
She wanted to know what happened to Tracy, but was worried she wouldn’t be able to escape the woman’s body before it was too late. Celeste also remembered how she’d used thoughts of John to help ground her earlier today. As she summoned his image—the warmth and love she knew she could count on from him—water began to surround her legs again and slowly rose.
Celeste relaxed in the darkness, gave the vision time to disappear and her own reality to return. After a few moments passed and the water lapped against her chin, she slowly opened her eyes. Then panicked when she looked at the naked body that didn’t belong to her, and at the claw foot bathtub that was the total opposite to Celeste’s modern garden tub.
“You never should have been born,” the figure yelled.
Tracy’s sluggish mind met with Celeste’s. The woman’s fear tore her in two as black hands pressed down on Tracy’s face, then shoved her under the water, smacking her head against porcelain. The water distorted the ever-changing unnatural and monstrous figure. Ignoring the way the cold water stung her eyes, Tracy gripped at the hands now pressing against her shoulders and holding her under the surface. She twisted her body. Her foot connected with the faucet, sending a sharp pain up her leg. The figure moved over her, pushed its knee against her stomach
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