This led Baal to an intriguing question. What was Jane Elring going to do next? Would she leave them alone? Or was she going to kill Arthur so she could get to him?
From up in the sky Baal watched how Jane stepped aside and gestured for Caleb and Arthur to walk into the mansion. Then she followed them but, just before she closed the door, she turned around and looked up at the sky.
Baal couldn’t help himself then. He lowered his body until he was sure she could see him. With an excited grin he waved at her.
Briefly their eyes locked in an embrace that went far beyond the physical. Baal felt her, everything she was and everything she hoped to be one day. When this was all over, the girl’s mind told him, she would like to try and be a good person.
Baal told her that she couldn’t afford to ever be a good person in the world she lived in. He blew her a kiss.
Jane nodded in acknowledgment. Then she walked inside the mansion and closed the door behind her.
Baal circled through the air in a bout of absolute passion. This was going to be one hell of a fight and he very much looked forward to the enticing distraction. Amusement and consumption. Jane Elring would most certainly amuse him. Would she allow him to consume her, too?
DAY 5
OCTOBER 28, 2019
A beautiful morning arrived at Brettville’s doorstep. It came accompanied by gentle rays of sunlight through which the dark clouds quickly disbanded. Touched by the gentle breeze that strolled casually through town, the birds sang their beautiful melodies, calling people from their slumber.
Agent Bradford was usually an early riser, but today he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. Work called out to him, as it always did, in the shape of countless messages waiting for him on his phone. He couldn’t bring his tired mind to care.
The night had been a restless one and his dreams had been tainted with a feeling of unease that steadily built up inside his core. It was similar to the feeling he got as a little boy whenever he had to go to the dentist. An oppressive mix of fear and anticipation. Something was coming… and it was big, and it was bad.
Of course, when he had been a kid his father was there to pull him through the shameful emotions of doubt and anxiety. A man looked in front of him, not at his feet. Fear was to be met head-on; to do any less was to be a coward. The Bradford men didn’t raise cowards. And if you needed to cry, you did it under the shower.
His father had been dead for several years and there was no man here now with Agent Bradford in his hotel room to yank him out of bed. To hold him accountable. To tell him he was being a shameful weakling and that he needed to get his shit together.
“Get your shit together,” Agent Bradford mumbled to himself as he turned onto his right side.
His phone was within arm’s reach and all he had to do was take it. He didn’t even have to get out of bed. He didn’t have to fight the pressure building up inside his core as he tried to stand against the pull of Brettville’s terrible gravity.
“Just pick up the fucking phone.”
But what if the cause of the terrible feeling that had snuck up on him during the night originated from one of the messages waiting to be read? What if his eyes would inform him of the doom that he knew had been impending for some time now?
As long as he didn’t know, it couldn’t hurt him. The childish thought was an affront to Agent Bradford’s sense of duty, both as a professional and as a man. A man looked in front of him, not at his feet. Even if it meant staring at the ugliest, meanest son of a bitch that lived on the block.
This was his block. He was responsible for it. He had to get out of bed. He had to pick up his phone.
Agent Bradford turned around and found himself staring at the purple curtains he had closed the night before. The sun seemed to struggle desperately to get through and it would only be a matter of time before the hotel room lost the last remnants of its darkness. Not even the purple cloth could prevent the day from reaching out to Agent Bradford.
He was caught between the purple haze that filled the room and the daylight that demanded his presence.
No, that wasn’t true. He was caught in the clutches of whatever it was that filled the depths of his core. It began to reach for his throat now and suddenly Agent Bradford had trouble breathing.
Agent Bradford rolled onto his back and felt an awful dizziness claim his head. The ceiling began to spin and he suddenly felt very sick.
What was going on? He had been perfectly fine last night before going to bed. He had even had a pleasant talk with Becky before calling it a night. Where had that pleasure gone? Why was his health deserting him?
Agent Bradford gathered all his strength and sat up straight. As he did, a terrible nausea assaulted his stomach and he threw up all over the carpeted floor. The sour scent of his own insides crawled up his nose, underscoring the sickness he felt inside his body.
He was warm and cold at the same time and his muscles trembled terribly. Through the dizziness he lost his ability to see straight and found himself unable to stand. Unable to clean the vomit from his lips and shirt. Unable to clean the carpet he had soiled.
The only thing Agent Bradford could do was crawl back into bed and pray to God that this horrible moment would pass. He reached for the covers and pulled them far over his shivering body, all the way up to his ears.
Agent Bradford felt like a child, weak and vulnerable, but nobody was here to take care of him. He was alone, all alone, and nobody would ever come to save him from his own body.
To his shock, Agent Bradford felt his stomach rumble and an excruciating pain echoed through his body. It felt as if he had to take a shit so large that a horse would be jealous of it. A shit so large that his very own body had difficulty processing it.
But how? He could barely see straight, let alone fathom that his trembling body would allow him to walk.
Agent Bradford tossed the covers aside and threw one leg out of bed. The pain in his stomach was almost unbearable and a new bout of nausea drew through his body. He threw up again as he struggled to shove his other leg out of bed.
Gathering all his strength he got up from bed and took two steps toward the bathroom. His head began to spin and he fell to the ground. Then he crawled. His stomach demanded that he crawled. He had to make it to the toilet. He had to….
He shat himself. He felt his underpants fill up with loads and loads of his own feces. It was soft and warm and immediately filled the room with a horrible stench.
Agent Bradford cried his eyes out under the realization of what had just happened to him. He felt so horribly degraded. He was a small, weak boy that couldn’t even take care of himself. Somebody even had to help him take a shit.
He roared in anger and closed his eyes. If he couldn’t see the world, his childish reasoning went, the world couldn’t see him.
The next moment he opened his eyes Agent Bradford found himself back in bed. He felt completely fine and the room wasn’t filled with the terrible stink of his shit and vomit. He hadn’t soiled himself and his dizziness had deserted him.
Had this all been a terrible and humiliating nightmare?
Then the ugliest voice echoed inside his head. He knew that voice anywhere. It was the horrible Jane Elring.
Not saying this was me or anything, Agent Bradford. You know that I officially can’t make people experience illusions, so it couldn’t have been me, right?
But what if it was me, Agent Bradford? What if, maybe, you were right all along? What if I am much more capable than Dr. Greer thinks I am? What if I can do things that would make you… forgive me… shit your pants?