Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 47.
Good Friends

Jeremy, the guy who agreed to do the little favor for Esther, left the bar a few minutes after the girls pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the hotel. He had come in mostly to invite a few people at the bar a round and celebrate the lucrative and strange business he had made. After finishing his drink, he paid the bill, said goodbye to his new unnamed friends, and headed for the exit.

He stepped into the parking lot with his cell phone to his ear. Before leaving, and still with the live music in the background, he made a very special call to Sheila, his favorite prostitute and the most expensive. Jeremy apparently hadn't planned to stop his celebration yet.

"You won't believe how I got these bills," he muttered enthusiastically as he walked to his vehicle. "It was the strangest thing. As soon as I arrive, I'll tell you. But whatever, prepare those nice legs; I've enough green to keep them open all night. And I'm hard as stone, mommy. But shave them a little for me, will you?"

After a little more flirtation on the phone, Jeremy hung up and continued walking with his chest held high towards his vehicle. He couldn't think of a better way to spend that surprise money than stay the whole night with Sheila. Perhaps the next day, he would regret it a bit, but nobody would take it away from him.

An old van was parked next to his Corolla, but he didn't notice much of it. Passing right behind it, he threw his keys into the air in an act of triumph. He saw them rise, turn, begin to descend... and then he saw nothing. The keys kept going but passed Jeremy's hand without touching his fingers. The man had been completely paralyzed, his eyes raised to the last point on him where he had seen his keys, even though they were no longer there. His face no longer reflected emotion but pure and utter emptiness.

The van's back door swung open, and James's big, strong hands grabbed Jeremy's jacket and quickly pulled him inside. The doors closed behind him, and then that little backspace became the entire universe, in which only James and Jeremy existed. The black man slammed him down hard on the truck's floor and leaned on the top of him. James pressed his left hand hard against his mouth and nose, while with the other, he held a long, sharp military knife, pressing its blade against his neck. Then James released him and let him be aware of where he was for just an instant before sliding the blade from side to side with a quick pull, opening his throat in a deep horizontal cut like a second mouth, which spat out a stream of blood, staining James's clothes and face. He remained undeterred.

Jeremy shuddered, staring at the towering figure above him in confusion and terror. He couldn't scream or breathe from the heavy hand placed on his face. He could only feel his own blood pooling in his throat, unable to even cough it up to somewhat release the pressure. His hands moved of their own accord, struggling and trying to push his unknown attacker off of him, but it was useless. The oxygen left his body as fast as his own blood, and little by little, those struggles became less.

James watched him intently, admiring all the despair, fear, and pain that lit up his eyes throughout the process. From the desperate and futile effort to do something to the inevitable seizures, the shock, and then nothing...

James took a deep breath, trying to fill his lungs with even the slightest trace of what could spring from that monstrosity. Indeed, it was little… too little.

It hadn't been worth the risk, but in the end, it hadn't been for that. He had to clean up any mess that woman left behind as if he were her personal babysitter. And Jeremy was a lazy mouth. By sheer luck, he hadn't told anyone inside the bar what happened, but it wouldn't take long to do it, of that James was sure. But now, he wouldn't say anything to anyone.

He withdrew his hand from his face. Jeremy's wild eyes stared in puzzlement at the truck's roof or the infinite nothingness above it. The blood kept coming out of his neck in two more little spurts, and then it just stopped. James was not a fool who did not know what he was doing; they had taught him the trade well. He had put on gloves, and goggles, in addition to having placed plastic on the floor and walls, but he still couldn't be sure that something wrong had not been stained. He took the man's cell phone out of his pocket, wrapped the body in the plastics as best he could, and put the bundle against the wall, covering it with a blanket and some boxes.

He still had another assignment to run that night, and now it looked like he had just stepped off the set of some horror movie. In fact, the reality was much worse than that comparison. He quickly removed his gloves, goggles, mask, and stained clothes and cleaned himself as best he could with wet towels. Being practically naked, he couldn't help but notice the small spots lighter than his skin forming on his chest and abdomen. It was difficult for him to breathe a little. Then he stretched his hand to the front of the cabin, taking from between the seats the cylinder that the brat had given him and that he had been avoiding even thinking about it. He took it firmly in his hands and opened it just a little between a small fit of coughing. A thick, whitish vapor escaped from it, slowly rising in front of his face. Seeing this turned out was almost an erotic image for him.

He took a deep breath of what little he had let out, but it was enough. That was quality steam, not the crumbs Jeremy had spilled on it. As soon as it entered his body, he felt much better. With more energy, the horrible feeling of illness subsided. He looked at his chest again, and the stains had diminished, though not disappeared. He sighed with some relief but also frustration. He ran his hand over his face and leaned his head against the wall of the truck.

He had lived like this for five years, gradually consuming what he could get, not to stay young and strong but simply to survive. Like an aimless wanderer, all since he left behind his companions, his family, and his own leader to save himself. That had been his life since he fled with his beloved Mabel and some of his closest friends, leaving the True Knot behind. And now, only Mabel and he remained. Possibly they were the last of that proud line that for so many years, or centuries, had traveled the roads of the new and old continents, consuming the rubes for strength and longevity. That beautiful tradition and brotherhood, reduced to being the lapdogs of a steamer brat who thought himself much better than them, to beg for the crumbs that his new master dropped to the ground.

Pathetic, it was pathetic. They weren't much better than the good old Jeremy, with his throat sliced and wrapped in plastic; a victim of all his greed and lust.

But there was no time to lament over nonsense like that. He had another assignment from his new "master," and that little dose of steam gave him the strength to do it.

After cleaning himself as best he could, James took Jeremy's cell phone and passed in one of the wet towels in case any trace could have fallen on it. Then he got out of the truck, locking it securely. He picked up Jeremy's keys that were still on the ground after the failed catch and headed for his latest victim's vehicle. The true one drove out of the parking lot in the blue Corolla and crossed the road to the Ringland Motel.

The show Owen Ringland was watching ended, and he still had a long night on duty until at least six in the morning. He began to change the channels looking for an interesting movie that could entertain him for at least the next two hours and not stoop to playing a game on Facebook. He no longer believed he would receive any other visitors for the rest of the night. More than anything, he only had to be on the lookout for any needs arising from his current guests, especially this man who had just registered relatively recently. Against all odds, however, the sound of the front door opening took him abruptly by surprise as he switched channels. And it wasn't any of his guests; in fact, the tall, burly man, with dark skin and long braided black hair, did not seem at all familiar.

The man wore a slightly old green jacket and a white tank top underneath that hugged his muscular torso. He had a rather hard look, and his thick lips were drawn in a sulky grin that certainly made Owen nervous. He was ashamed to admit it, but as much as he denied it to himself, perhaps his nerves were accompanied by a certain ill-fated prejudice; so much so that his hand almost involuntarily wanted to get closer to the weapon he had hidden under the counter. Still, he forced himself not to do that, although his hand remained close to the edge.

The newcomer inhaled with force through his nose and rubbed it a bit with his hands. He then approached Owen with a slightly more relaxed posture and even smiled jovially at him once he was in front of the counter.

"Good evening," the man greeted in a moderate tone.

"Good evening…" Owen replied, sounding more insecure than he wanted to project. He cleared his throat and then stood up straight. "Can I help you?"

"I don't want to bother. It's just…" The man reached into his jacket pocket with his right hand, and once again, Owen went on the alert. But, unfortunately for his small prejudices, the only thing this individual took out of his pocket was a Smartphone, which he placed on the counter in front of him. "There were three girls out there just moments ago, and I think one of them dropped this. It seemed to me that they entered one of your rooms. Could you give it to them?"

Owen breathed in some relief, feeling even sorrier for his unwarranted thoughts. He allowed himself to pick up the phone and press the power button to turn on the screen. The phone was clearly locked, but on the lock screen, he could see that it had a close-up photo of a man in the background, which he recognized. He was the last guest who had registered, and in effect, he had said he was coming with his three daughters. It was the man's phone, or one of his daughters had a picture of their father in the background; that last alternative was kind of cute.

"Sure, I'll take care of giving it to them," Owen agreed enthusiastically.

"Thank you," said the newcomer, smiling at him again. "I don't take your time anymore..."

Just as he entered, that man turned and began to walk towards the door. However, after two steps, he seemed to stagger a little, as if he were going to fall, but managed to firmly hold on to his two feet before that happened.

"Are you okay, sir?" Owen asked him, a little worried when he saw it. The stranger stood motionless for a few moments before straightening up and walking again as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah, I'm just a little dizzy," he said hastily before opening the door. "Have a good night."

Before receiving any further questioning, he rushed out and closed the door behind him. Owen stared at the door for a few moments. Was he drunk? It seemed to him that he looked quite normal.

It didn't matter; he was already gone anyway. Now he only had to hand over that phone to its owners as he had promised. He came out behind the counter and left the reception for a few moments to make the delivery.

Esther opened the bathtub's handles to fill it with hot water. She sat on its edge with her hand hanging inward, pinking the water with her fingertips as it filled up. That act alone was relaxing, but not quite enough yet. She hoped that little bath would help her forget for a few seconds how crazy those last days had been. And it wasn't just the constant police hunt over her head, or having to travel between states dragging a despot and hateful girl on crutches with her, or that she had had to kill more people in recent days than she had in the last couple of years. Or that she hadn't had a good or bad fuck in weeks, and strangely her body seemed to start to resent it; perhaps it was the power of habit. Besides all that was the undeniable and surreal reality presented before her every moment.

People who could read your mind, make you see and feel things that weren't there, play with your mind or immobilize you, and now a girl who was able to make someone else stick a scalpel into their neck without blinking, and with the same normality with which she would apply a little makeup.

And then there was this boy, Damien Thorn. Esther didn't know what he could do, but she was beginning to think that it was something much more horrible still. Her own weirdness, that strange quality that had come out of nowhere in her after coming out of that frozen lake, already made her uncomfortable and confused, but it was nothing in comparison. What kind of world had she gotten into? Or maybe she was always in it and hadn't realized it.

Her head ached a little, and her shoulders felt tense.

There was no point thinking about it much more. In a couple of days, they would arrive in Los Angeles, she would hand the two brats over to that guy, and she would get her answers; each and every one of them.

Once the tub was full, she turned off the faucet and began undressing. First, she released the two tails she had made herself, letting her black hair fall over her shoulders. Then she removed her clothes, gradually releasing her small body of childish proportions but still maintaining the shape and curves of a grown woman's body, without ever becoming fully grown. She placed her hands on her small bust, barely protruding from her flat chest. She felt her breasts with her fingers, explored them a little, and enjoyed the light touch of the tips against her hard nipples. She flinched a little with relish, and all her worries faded for that little instant.

Esther got into the tub and sat fully in it. Her muscles immediately appreciated the warm hug. She fully submerged her head to feel the almost maternal warmth throughout her body, not caring if her makeup ran off in the process. In fact, she allowed herself to scrub her entire face with the water to cleanse it as best as possible. Shortly afterward, she used the small hotel soap that came as a gift and ran it over her arms and legs to clean them of any trace of sweat, dirt, and (why not?) blood that might have been on her.

During her soaping process on her legs, her hand slid down the inner part of her left thigh and up until it reached her intimate part. At first, she just rubbed the soap over that area in a totally normal way, as if trying to convince herself that she just wanted to clean herself. But she knew well that it would not be just that. She dropped the soap, not caring if it was underwater on the floor of the tub, and began to move her fingers against her sex. She shuddered again when she felt that direct and somewhat brusque touch. Maybe that was what she needed to get all of this out at once.

She placed her right leg over the tub's edge to give herself more room and maneuver better. With her other hand, she explored her small breasts again. And again, everything was gone. She didn't care where she was on the map, the two girls on the other side of the door, the police who were looking for her, or who was waiting in Los Angeles. For those minutes, in that bathroom, there were only her and her own imagination; the best and worst company she had had during all those years of absolute solitude, practically since she arrived in this world.

But the universe did not want her to forget for long about her undeniable reality. She was in the middle of her work, or perhaps a little further when she clearly heard heavy knuckles knocking on the room's door despite having the bathroom door closed. That made her jump, somewhat stunned at being snapped back to reality.

"Shit," she muttered, mired in indescribable frustration.

She shot out from the tub and desperately searched for one of the white bathrobes to cover herself. Was it the police? She didn't think so since they should have announced it more clearly. But no matter who it was, she couldn't allow either of those two brats to open up and say something stupid.

The robe was obviously too big for her, but it would work for now. However, she suddenly remembered the makeup. Esther walked over to the mirror and took a quick look, trying to detect how bad it looked and if there was anything she could do to reverse it without taking too long.

And it was at that moment, when her eyes fell on her reflection in the mirror, that her mind simply clouded.

Some of her makeup was running down her face, and most of her real face was exposed. Or, at least, what was supposed to be her real face. But in the mirror, Esther saw something vastly different from what she expected. Wrinkles, skin marks, crow's feet, chapped lips…. None of that was there. The skin on her face was smooth, firm, and soft, decorated with her flirty freckles, how it looked when she applied her makeup… or even better.

Confused, she took a long piece of toilet paper and ran it over her face insistently, trying to remove any trace of the paint layer that might remain on it, not thinking that she should, in fact, be doing the opposite. The paper was wet and stained, but only slightly. And when she looked back in the mirror, the image she had initially seen was still there: a young face that could pass much quicker than that of a girl between nine and thirteen years old, perhaps fourteen at most. And without the need for some accessory that made it look that way.

Esther opened her robe to look at the rest of her body. She hadn't noticed it at first, but now it became more than evident to her: the skin on her body in general looked firmer and smoother as well, just as it was ten or twenty years ago. The scars on her neck and wrist were still there, being difficult to ignore. That was perhaps the only thing that kept her from believing that this was a complete hallucination.

What the heck had happened? How had her body changed so suddenly? Was it a side effect of that ability that had sprung up from her path? But just before entering that hospital, her face was the same as always; she had seen it in the mirror while putting on makeup. What changed? Nothing at all. Nor had anything unusual happened, except that now he was traveling with...

Samara? That girl?

For some reason, her new traveling companion came to mind, and she stayed there for a long time, refusing to leave. Had she caused this? But how?

She could not reflect on all that madness anymore because she heard a knock on the door again, now with much more force. She quickly pulled her robe closed and hurried out of the bathroom.

Samara and Lily were each lying on a bed, watching on television an extensive car chase that surely belonged to an action movie, while slowly eating their respective hamburgers and fries. Neither seemed interested in getting up and attending.

"Someone is at the door," Lily pointed out absently, having at least two potatoes in her mouth. She turned to see Esther at that moment and seemed a little surprised when she saw her. "Didn't you remove your makeup to shower?"

Esther winced a little at that question. Did she see it differently, too? Was it not her imagination then?

It didn't matter, not at the moment.

Esther went to his suitcase, took out her gun, unlatched it, and hurried to the door.

"Cover that leg," pointed out to Lily sharply. "And no one says anything."

Lily snorted and then covered her legs with the pink coverlet from the bed.

Esther stopped in front of the door and attached the chain. She held her weapon with her right hand, hiding it behind the door, while she opened it only a little, what the chain allowed. The man standing outside in the hallway wasn't a cop, or at least he didn't look like one. Owen Ringland's appearance was actually quite normal and boring. The middle-aged man lowered his gaze to meet the apparent girl's face, barely peeking through the small opening.

"Hello, little one," Owen said with a friendly smile, then handed the phone he carried in his right hand. "A man at the front desk said that maybe this could be from one of you."

"A man?" Esther murmured without fully understanding that statement. She looked at that phone for a second and immediately shook her head. "No, it must be a mistake, sorry..."

Esther was about to immediately close the door before receiving more questioning, but Owen insisted.

"Are you sure? He said he saw three girls outside, and you are the only three girls who have just arrived. Besides, this is your dad, right?"

Owen allowed himself to turn on the screen so the girl could see the lock screen with that photo in the background. Esther recognized it quickly.

"Maybe it's from him? Could you call him?"

"He went to get ice," Esther answered quickly without much thought. "What was that man like?"

"The one who delivered it? Well… he was tall, Afro-American, hair in braids… But then, isn't it yours?"

Esther thought for a few moments. That description left no room for doubt; it was clear who it was. But why had he left that phone for them? Was it some kind of strange message? Anyway, that phone possibly belonged to that individual he had used. Whatever it was, she couldn't leave it to that stupid manager; it would be very risky.

Esther's lips drew a sweet, almost naive smile, making her face look sweetly innocent.

"Ah, how silly of me," she exclaimed, laughing, slapping her hand against her forehead. "Of course, it's my sister Michelle's phone." She turned then to Lily sitting on the bed, visible from the door opening. "Surely you dropped it again. You are so clumsy."

That last comment had been made with a playful tone that Lily did not like at all.

"I'm sorry, I have butterfingers," replied the girl on the bed without much enthusiasm.

"Thank you very much, sir," Esther exclaimed cheerfully, then grabbed the phone, almost snatching it from Owen's fingers. "My father would have killed her if she found out she had lost another phone. You have saved her life."

"Do not worry. If you need anything..."

"We will call you, thank you very much. I'm sorry, but my dad will be back, and I don't want him to see us talking to a stranger."

Before Owen could say anything else, Esther rushed to shut the door, almost hitting him in the face with it. Then she subtly peeked through the window curtains, watching as the manager stood a few doubtful seconds in front of the door, scratched his head a bit, almost completely bald, and then walked away down the hall. She wasn't sure if she had entirely convinced him, but again she would have to take a chance.

Once it was no longer visible from the window, Esther hurried to fully close the curtains and lock the door.

She sighed slowly, trying to calm herself, and only then did she glance at the phone. She tried to turn it on, but it was locked. She could only see the background photo of the same guy she had just seen not long ago in the parking lot of that bar and the numeric keypad to enter the pin, which she was clearly unaware of.

"Who's phone is this?" She heard Samara ask curiously, but Esther had no intention of answering.

She wondered again what were the intentions of that strange man who had intervened in the Eola Hospital. It seemed safe to conclude that the previous owner of that phone was dead. But why send it to them? Just to warn her that she had been too careless and that he had to take care of it? On the one hand, she thanked him if that was the case. On the other, she wanted to see him head-on and ask him if he had any better idea of what the hell she should do.

And at that moment, the phone began to ring loudly, with an irritating tone that it had by default for sure. All three girls were startled in surprise by this sudden change, although none had a conscious reason to react in such a way. The number on the screen was listed as unknown, so it was not one of the contacts the man had saved. It was unlikely, but not impossible, that it was a wife or girlfriend asking why he hadn't come home yet.

Esther hesitated for a few moments between answering or not because it was also possible that it was precisely that man, and his final intention was to speak to them by that phone instead of doing it head-on. And that seemed clever to him. But… what if it wasn't him?

"Are you going to answer or not?" Lily asked scathingly.

Esther glanced at her without saying anything for a few moments and then looked at the screen again. If it was not who she thought, they would have to destroy the phone and run out of that place as soon as possible. Everything in that last stretch had been based on taking risks; would one more run?

Somewhat resigned to accepting the inevitable, she answered the call a couple of seconds before it was completely cut off and held the cell phone to her right ear.

"Hello?"

"You could have been more convincing, Leena," she heard almost immediately a voice murmur on the line, a voice she did not identify as the man's, but it seemed pretty familiar.

The woman's eyes widened, and her entire face suddenly turned quite serious.

"You…" she exclaimed with a tone of recrimination.

She glanced at Lily and Samara, who were staring at her in confusion but also curious. Instead of prompting them to explain who was speaking, she led her to walk quickly to the room's small balcony, go out, and close the glass door behind her. Lily and Samara looked at each other in confusion. However, Lily's was relatively minor since she had sensed in Esther a trace of that emotion that was so familiar to her.

Was Esther afraid? Maybe not as such. But even so, either from the remnants of what she was doing in the bathtub before being interrupted or from the strong shock of suddenly hearing that voice, her heart thumped violently, and a tickle ran through her abdomen. Once on the balcony, she gradually calmed down.

"You were a lot less silent and discreet on your way than I expected," whispered that voice on the phone, the one she had only heard once but immediately recognized as that of that boy named Damien. "But somehow or other, you almost accomplished your mission; congratulations."

"Save your talk, brat," Esther snapped, keeping her cool as best she could. "I already have your two girls, now do your part."

She then heard him laugh proudly.

"The deal was for you to bring them to me, which hasn't happened yet. But you are already close, and I am still waiting for you here."

"And why are you calling me then?"

"I just wanted you to know I'm closer than you think, always watching."

Esther was silent for a few moments. Was it a threat? It was difficult for her to suppose that it could mean anything else.

"Was the man at the hospital your spy?"

"I wouldn't call him like that, but yes, I sent him."

"If he's around, why don't I hand the two brats to him and get this over with? I'm already getting sick of being a babysitter."

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you didn't have fun on this trip. I thought that by this point, you would have become good friends."

Esther joked, annoyed at the mere insinuation.

"Besides, you have to be the one to bring them here."

"Why?"

"Because I say so, and that's the only thing you should care about."

Esther's fingers tightened on the phone. She felt the anger rise in her head and pool in the back of it like a throbbing pain. The only thing that dampened it a bit was a gust of icy wind that made her hug her right hand. She remembered at the time that she was wet and only covered in a robe too big for her, and he hadn't given it much thought before going outside like that.

"Be very careful how you talk to me," Esther replied, leaving no doubt that this was indeed a threat. "Obviously, the two brats are important to you, and I am now much closer to both than you and your spy, or whatever you want to call him. What would prevent me from slicing off their skinny necks in their sleep and running away with the money that's left?"

On the other end of the line, Damien smiled, indifferent to her words; she didn't see it, but she knew it was.

"Many things," the boy replied, normally. "To begin with, you would lose the opportunity to know what you long for. Next, there would be no place in this world that you could hide from me. And most importantly, you have already seen what both are capable of. Do you really want to risk hurting either of them?"

Again, Esther was silent. Indeed, she had witnessed, sometimes the hard way, what her two companions, hostages or whatever, could do if they were cornered. And she sensed that she still did not know the full extent of those abilities. She knew it, even before she launched her threat. But she raged at the idea that this brat believed he had all control over her. That a man, adult or not, saw her as something insignificant without any power was something she simply could not and did not want to conceive.

"Come on, cheer up," the boy murmured with more encouragement. "Your mission is almost over... or just beginning, depending on how you see it."

"Who you really are?" Esther whispered. "What do you want them for exactly?"

Again she felt him smile arrogantly.

"Bring them as soon as possible. I will be anxiously waiting for you. And by the way, if I were you, I would destroy this phone and leave that motel as early as possible tomorrow. If I need to contact you again, I will search for a way. See ya."

And then he hung up, as abruptly as he'd called.

Esther slowly withdrew the phone from her ear and stood looking up at the dark hill behind that motel. That guy caused so many things to her; anger, frustration, but also a certain degree of fascination and, of course, excitement.

Who was he? What did he want? What would he do with the three of them once they arrived? Were they in danger? She had no answers to any of that. And for the first time since this whole absurd mission began, she wondered if she wasn't heading straight for the wolf's mouth.

What guaranteed that boy knew exactly what was happening to her? How could she know that he wouldn't kill her once she was in front of him again? And what would he do with Lily and Samara…?

Questioning that last thing took her unexpectedly by surprise. Did that matter? It wouldn't have to. Those girls meant nothing to her at all. They were the equivalent of legged packages she had to deliver and no more. Although their abilities seemed helpful, there were sure to be many fun things they could do if she used them correctly. But, in the end, they were just a heavy and annoying burden.

Let Damien Thorn, or whoever he was, do what he wanted with them. She would bring them before him and whatever happened, even if it involved her own death. In fact, on more than one occasion in the past five years, she had come to embrace the idea of death, if that was still a possibility. The idea that maybe it could all end that way, and in the hands of that guy whose presence caused so much within her, it caused a strange satisfaction.

But she would only know until they got to Los Angeles.

She turned towards the door to go back inside, and as she did so, she found herself squarely into Lily's cold, hard face, staring at her from the other side of the glass door. Esther flushed, almost scared. The girl was standing there, leaning on her crutches, staring at her silently. How long had she been there? Had she heard something? Although, it didn't really matter; she didn't need to hear as such to know what they had been talking about.

The ten-year-old girl stood there for a while, just watching her, and then she turned on her crutches and headed back to her bed without saying anything. Esther stared at her as she walked away.

She remembered then that Damien Thorn's threat was not the only one on his head. Really, she was surrounded in all directions, with little chance of getting out of it. So yes, she really was helpless and powerless… and without any friend who could sincerely reach out to her.

END OF CHAPTER 47

Author's Notes:

-The True Knot and the data revealed by James in this chapter are references to the Doctor Sleep novel by Stephen King. Although James is an original character who does not appear or is mentioned in said book, he was created under the same context and used as a basis for its antagonists, in the way that James is a former member of this group.