Willing the Wind:
Death is Only the Beginning
Book One
By
Donna S. West
Copyright 2013 Donna S. West
Willing the Wind:
Death is Only the Beginning
Book One
She waited in silence, relishing the time, as the dawn slowly turned from reds and yellows and erupting into the blaze of glory emitted when the sun washed the banks of the opposite shore of the small lake where she had spent her life. The morning was clear and bright with sunlight, the rain from the previous night having left the air with a fresh-washed scent which wafted across the soft, freshly laundered sheets, caressing her skin lightly, almost lovingly. Her dreams from the previous night still clawed at her mind and hauntingly whispered secrets from the midnight realm of another world.. She didn’t recall all of her dream. It is as though the memory lay at the edge of her mind somewhere between waking and sleeping. What was it, this bit of knowing that wasn't quite knowing? She had recalled a fragrance, light like morning dew yet tempered with something else… something that was uniquely nature's own. It was pine! Yes! That was it! Pine! Fresh and wet and drenched in sunlight! Slowly she felt the dream reach forth and whisper its appalling truth… softly as though in the room. Queer disembodied shadows danced at edges of the room, beckoning her ever nearer. She had heard a voice, deep and resonating. Recognition washed over her along with tremors of terror like a rabbit caught in the sight of a hound with no place to run, the knowledge of impending death shocking it into a frozen sculpture, no longer possessing the ability to move! Where has she heard it before? It had extended skeletal fingers of knowledge, breaking down her barriers, forcing her to see the unspeakable horror waiting for her and pulling her out of the net of safety which ignorance had wrapped her in. The shadows writhed closer, clawing at her. They reached out for her, drew her into the thick ink of their depths. She became conscious of her breath being sucked from her lungs. She struggled to take in life-sustaining air as terror gripped her. She turned to run, only to find that her feet had become stones without feeling. Her breath came in short gasps of agony and then she became aware of the the essence of the evil closing in on her. She stumbled and fell to the ground. Twisting her body, terrified she began to fight and claw at the thing which was assaulting her.
As her eyes locked on the object of her fear, they began to travel upward. She felt her heart hammering against her ribs as though it alone might escape to freedom. She wanted to look away but fear drove her to face her assailant. Her breath came faster and faster.
He was smiling, the brilliant morning sun glinting off the menacing blade of the knife held loosely in his hand.
As he wrapped an iron fist around her delicate upper arm, she saw the knife lower. The sharp blade sliced across her delicate inner wrists; once … twice. Then he blew her a kiss and closed his eyes in bliss.
Then she yielded to oblivion. It was the only safety and peace she would ever know; Again.
It had been him! Kerry! His evil had permeated her world like the sulfuric fumes of hell for so long that she couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been there.
He had been there on that day...the day she had died. She could remember it now.
There had been a time when memory had been softened to allow for transition into the realm of safety she now inhabited. It was the realm of souls; the world of the spirit. She had gone from fear to safety, from pain to pleasure, from sorrow to comfort in an instant, in the blink of an eye. For that she could thank him at least. Her final release had come at his hands and! this was no dream!
Oh! God help me! It is real! As her memory began to travel return, she felt again her heart pounding as though to come out of her chest. As suddenly as the fear reared its head, it was gone and the peace of the realm in which she now dwelt once again washed over her, soothing and gentle. She knew now that he had taken others. She had met them, here in this place of knowing. They had helped her to face it and to accept it. She had known that she was dying. As she felt her vision fading, she had locked her gaze on his. And as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
She had felt no pain, only release and peace. There was no fear now. But she hovered just above the realm of the other place, watching. It was surreal, as though it was happening to someone else. Whispers came to her; the voices of the others who had suffered at his hands. Gently, they reached for her. One voice, stronger than the rest, had introduced herself as Jenny, Kerry’s first wife before he had conveniently widowed himself. She had been his first victim.
“We will help you through this Tracey. We have been watching and waiting. Our time has come and our circle is complete. Now, with you here, we are strong enough to stop him. Help us!” Jenny whispered.
“Yes,” Tracey whispered. “I will”
Then she felt herself lifting and the voices became clearer. Each one told her the story of their death and their life with the man who had just murdered her. The plan materialized before her without the words of the human mouth. He had ripped the bodies … homes of the souls of so many open and bared them, raw and weeping and helpless.
It was his turn now. But unlike him, they held no thought of cruelty or anger. They only saw the need for him to be stopped.
She understood now what must be done to stop the man she had called husband for so many years.
Her attention turned back to the scene below her.
The others watched as well.
Tracey could feel the well of hatred emanating from below her even as she watched the man behave as though what had just happened was as ordinary as breathing.
Kerry just stood there gazing down at the woman he had been married to for over ten years. Bright red blood pumped from the wounds on her wrists and ran in rivulets at his feet, creating a crimson river on the floor. The scarlet color matched the splatter on his crisp, white shirt. Scarlet life essence dripped rhythmically on the floor from the blade he held lightly in his left hand.
He coveted the look in her eyes as the life drained slowly from them. He had wanted… needed this for such a long time.
Thinking back, he recalled all the times he had come so very close to doing it. How he had loved the terror in her face when he had awakened her in the night with the .38 caliber revolver pointed at her temple, pulling the trigger slow…ever so slowly…until he had ‘fired’ each empty chamber after which he had raped her repeatedly. At times he had even raped her violently, waking her from a dead sleep with his knife at her throat. Those nights had gone on for many hours; hours of horror for her and hours of delight for him.
God! Even now it aroused him when he thought about it! Excitement tantamount to sexual tension rose within him and he needed to get to the to the shower to relieve himself.
She was a beautiful woman with long scarlet locks and startling blue eyes the color of the ocean at twilight. Of course the others had been stunning as well. Each had met a different fate, carefully choreographed but all had been quite unpleasant and very, very deadly. His skill had improved over the years. His first, Jenny, had died quickly at his hand. But he had learned how to prolong the fear and terror. He had even learned how to prolong their death...when he wanted to that is.
He took one last long look relishing his work and walked to the closet. He removed a clean white shirt which was identical to the one he was wearing. Then he selected a tie and suit. Then he sauntered to the shower and turned the knob, waiting patiently until the water was just the perfect temperature. After a few moments, he stepped into the torrent allowing the water to pour over him while he replayed the events of the pa
st few minutes in his mind. Blood ran toward the drain culminating in stringy clumps while he sang, lathering his body generously with the pleasantly scented soap he always kept at hand.
As he showered he went over his plan. The plan which would cover him as far as his wife's death is concerned. He had become quite adept at playing the widowed husband over the last few years.
As he stepped out of the shower, he grabbed a large, soft towel and scrubbed himself dry. He stood before the full length mirror admiring himself as he looked at his magnificent body crowned with a mass of dark hair cut in his usual short GQ style. Gazing back at him were eyes as blue as the sky, a sharp contrast to his tanned skin and dark hair.
He slipped into the crisply starched shirt and slacks and expertly tied the sapphire blue striped tie, tucking it neatly into place.