Chapter 1

Light...

So much light...

Flickering like the wings of a startled butterfly, her eyes began to open, the light blinding, burning them into submission as she rolled over, her head spinning. The pain tore across her chest, searing, making her scream as she tried to move. She didn't know where she was, or even who she was, but she recognised the constant beeps of the hospital equipment. The humming of the breathing apparatus, familiar as the pipe was instantly yanked from her throat, her hands working on their own as they ripped the tape from her face and slowly pulled the tube free of her windpipe. She retched as she pulled the last bit clear of her face, her chest exploding once again in agony. Blinking her eyes again in frustration, she finally started to get used to the light, flowing in from her left hand side. As she released her grip on the now redundant plastic breathing tube, it casually fell to the floor, the accompanying alarm rousing various voices as the siren burst into life. Footsteps raced towards her as the doors opened with an explosion. She looked around as the shapes approached her, motioning, talking, but nothing made any sense. She felt a hand on her forehead as she was held down, the tube cleaned off and once again inserted down her throat. On the other side, somebody fiddled with an IV drip as everything once again started to become hazy. Her eyes started to close and the intense pain from her chest started to subside.

This could be heaven...

Or even hell...

This happened a few times, but she had no idea how long a period of time it was over. It could have been days, weeks, but on the other hand it could simply have been hours. Each time she found herself to be more alert, self aware, less panicked. She also noticed that the pain, the constant agony across her chest had now started to die down, more of a throbbing pain now. She still had no idea what had happened, how she'd ended up in what was obviously a hospital. But more importantly she had no idea 'who' had been involved in her latest predicament. She struggled to remember such simple things as her name during the fractured spells of consciousness that she had been experiencing. The panic ravaging her mind as she attempted to sit up, her head still dizzy from whatever drugs they were pumping into her veins. She would still wake, unable to recall various memories, but she had started to feel more human now. Every time she woke, she would lay there, unmoving, trying to kickstart her brain, letting the cool breeze wash over her shattered body. At first she had been shocked, genuinely scared that she had no feeling in her legs. Her upper body was fine, she had the pains to prove it, but her legs... Nothing... Dead! Now she remembered, they had always been like that. She ran her hand across her chest, the breathing tube now removed once and for all, but her medication remained. She was still tripping in and out as she felt something under her nightgown. Slightly above and just off centre of her breasts there was something there. A long, raised line, sensitive to touch, definitely the place she had been experiencing pain. Still dazed she laid back, her energy depleted after such a simple task, then taking a deep breath she let the drugs take her off to sleep once more.

She liked sleep...

She welcomed it...

Eventually they had seen fit to take her IV fluids away and sit her up. 'A modern day miracle' one of the medical team had called her as she slowly came to, her head still groggy from the morphine. The hospital room was surprisingly calming on her as she looked across to the window and out into the streets of San Diego. She could hear cars, bikes, and people laughing as they took a walk around the grounds, maybe just down the street. Trying to piece together the events that had brought her here, she closed her eyes and relaxed. Apparently, the shock her body had experienced had made her brain lock down, temporarily of course, but nevertheless it had gone into what the doctors had termed as 'Safe Mode'. Ceasing all functions except that one common to all members of the human race. The ability to survive. The last thing she truly remembered was making her dinner. Taking it from the microwave, then... Nothing. Just this. She placed her hand on her chest and felt the same raised line under the thin fabric of the night gown. Looking down she grabbed the collar and started, slowly, to pull it down and finally get a good look at whatever lurked underneath. Suddenly the door to her room was thrown open, her neighbour Joel entering. As she sat up, the expression of relief rapidly spread across his face.

"Nica! Jesus Christ you're alright." He said as he opened his arms and approached the bed, his leather jacket opening to reveal an alarmingly graphic ribcage t-shirt. About 5'8", shoulder length black hair and on the chunky side, Joel had been the first person to introduce himself on the day Nica had moved in to her new place in the assisted living complex in San Diego. Cheerful, with the thickest goatee Nica had ever seen, he had wasted no time at all in helping her move all manner of stuff around until she got the place just right. Truth be told she had found him a god send in the first week as he gave her a tour of the town, sorted out her various transport permits and even talked to the landlord about fixing the leaking shower head.

"Joel!" She opened her arms as wide as she could but recoiled slightly as soon as her chest started to ache.

"You alright?" He asked as he gently leaned in and gave her a hug, placing his hand on the back of her head and embracing her.

"Yeah..." Her voice was muffled as she tried to speak through the shoulder of Joel's jacket. Joel noticed this and pulled back, turning to grab a chair, taking a seat by the side of Nica's bed. She wiped away a tear as he sat down.

"Doctors said you'd probably be sore." He said. "But they also said you were the luckiest bitch they'd seen in a long time." His eyes widened as he repeated the last bit. "A looooong time!"

"Yeah? I don't feel too lucky." Nica answered as she tried to shuffle about and get comfortable again.

"You're kidding me right?" Joel asked. "You any idea how close you came to dying?" He had to laugh. Nica shot him a cold look.

"You know what happened?" She asked urgently. Joel stopped laughing and looked at her bewildered.

"Yeah, that guy was going to town on you." He spoke softly. "I came round, found the door open so let myself in. Next thing I know you're on your back in the living room, this guy straddling you, and the knife..." Nica held her hand up, her eyes snapping shut, images flashing across her brain, her memory jolted into life.

It all came flooding back.

David!

She remembered his face, he seemed to hang in the doorway, catching Nica's attention, then as she turned... He just threw himself across the room. She could see him now, hammering her head into the wooden floor, rolling her onto her back before sitting atop her and brandishing the knife. Nica hadn't known what was happening, she was in a daze, taken completely by surprise. Then he said something as he leaned in, slowly bringing the knife down and scraping it roughly across her cheek. What was it he said? She was struggling to remember. Then it hit home.

"Just like you're fucking slut mother!" He had spat at her as he ran the knife down her neck and across her chest, before lifting and plunging it into her heart, unknowingly missing the target by millimetres, both hands gripping the moulded plastic handle. It was as this happened that she took one last look into his cold empty eyes and realised that this wasn't David Jacobs. She wasn't sure how he had done it, but the man in front of her, shoving the knife deeper, now choking her with his spare hand, was none other than Charles Lee Ray. He was the only person to refer to her mother, Sarah Pirce, in such a demonic way, and now as she looked into his eyes she felt the most horrific pain she could imagine as her last breath was slowly strangled from her body. His twisted, evil face bustling with sadistic pleasure, as a grin spread from ear to ear. Then as she closed her eyes, she let go of everything and prepared for the warm embrace of death to finally take her. After everything it was finally ending, the last six months, ironically enough counting for nothing.

"...and that's the last I remember." She whimpered as she finished relaying her newly found memories to Joel. He sat staring in disbelief.

"You mean you knew this guy?" He stuttered. "This guy was your friend David?"

Nica nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she lifted her hands to her eyes.

"But they got him!" Joel grabbed Nica's wrist as he spoke. "I pulled him off you and screamed for help."

"You did?" Nica asked, looking up, surprised.

"Yeah. Luckily enough there were some guys doing repairs next door. They came running in and helped me hold the guy down while we called the cops and an ambulance. Didn't say his name was David though!"

"What did he say his name was?" Nica knew the answer before the question left her lips, but she needed to hear it.

"Charles... He was screaming it in fact. Even when the cops showed up! Took three of 'em to get him to the car!"

"Oh god!" Nica sat back, her life crumbling, once again, before her eyes. "Where is he now?"

"According to the paper..." Joel started. "He was committed! He wasn't all there Nica. He had something seriously wrong with him!"

Nica shook her head as she tried to take it all in. Her head started to pound as she realised what had happened. That night, the ambulance, the lightning... Poor David. What had happened to him? What had the bastard done to him? Suddenly and without warning Nica vomited, yellow bile shot across the bed as Joel instinctively flinched backwards.

"It's okay," He said as he pressed the emergency button. "They're coming Nica."

With each convulsion, her chest seemed to ignite, the pain growing deeper, more intense with every second. As she placed her hand on her chest, she once again felt the long, raised bump under the night gown. Placing her hands on the collar, furiously yanking it down, Nica screamed as she exposed a four inch scar, the result of a team of medics working round the clock to keep Nica alive following her violent altercation, after the knife had pierced her skin, only narrowly missing several major arteries. Nica's scream died into a weep as she saw the ugly line of stitches, yet another constant reminder of Charles Lee Ray.

As the nurses entered the room, one grabbed a syringe from one of the various medical trays around the room, using it to pierce a vial of morphine before drawing back the plunger and injecting Nica in her hip.

Then before she knew it, Nica was out again.

Her problems drifting away in a cloudy haze.

"Okay David," Detective Lawrence Adams stubbed his cigarette out before exhaling, the acrid smoke filling interrogation room 3 of San Diego Police Department. His piercing blue eyes and ruffled silver hair lending him an air of Hollywood, not a street hardened police officer, he leaned back in the steel chair and folded his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes as he directed his gaze at the gibbering wreck of a man before him, hands cuffed behind his back, fidgeting in his seat as he sat with his head bowed. "What exactly happened? In your own words."

"How about you loosen the cuffs officer?" Charles asked, speaking through the manipulated body of David Jacobs, the flesh twisting and crawling as his soul entwined itself within the host.

"I can't do that David." Adams replied. "You've been arrested for attempted murder. Do you understand what that means?"

Silence. Just a smirk crossing David's face as his eyes lifted, brow furrowing as his head remained bowed. The sheer look of lunacy dwelling deep within the eyes was disturbing to Detective Adams.

"You know, the last time I was interrogated officially, I was allowed a phone call?" David casually asked. "At least allowed to talk to someone."

"Talk to me," Adams tried again. "Tell me what happened. Believe it or not I'm on your side."

"Really?" David asked, a hint of sarcasm to his response.

"Sure." Adams replied. "We just want to know what happened."

Silence again as David dropped his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling as he spoke.

"And what if you don't believe me?" He asked.

"Well we won't know that until you tell us, will we?" Adams leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands together as he used them to support his unshaven chin. This man was proving to be a problem alright. A thorn in Detective Adams' side.

"But I've told you everything. It's all been a mistake, you've got the wrong man." David's words lingered, spinning out endlessly as he spoke.

"David, we've got three witnesses, not to mention the officers that arrived on scene and literally had to carry you screaming to the car. Now you're telling me we got the wrong guy? Come on." He leaned back again, closing his eyes as he massaged his temples.

Silence once again filled the thick atmosphere of the interrogation room.

"Okay..." David quietly whispered. "You want the truth? Here's the truth."

Detective Adams leaned forward again, ears pricked up, trying to catch the words as they quietly left the lips of the man sitting across from him. David continued...

"My real name is Charles Lee Ray. I was born September 6th 1950..." David was interrupted.

"You look awfully good for a sixty-four year old David." He paused, deciding to play along slightly. "Sorry I mean Charles."

"I haven't finished." Charles replied, his head not lifting to acknowledge either Detective Adams or the street cop guarding the door. "You have to let me finish. Try not to interrupt!" His voice became louder, angrier.

"Okay then... Charles. Continue..." Adams reached into the jacket hanging from the back of his chair and lifted the pack of Marlboro cigarettes from the breast pocket. He could tell that something was far from right with this man. He'd started sweating, shaking, almost as though he was coming down with something. Flu maybe? Whatever it was, it lent an even more intimidating dimension to his already dishevelled and mildly psychotic appearance.

"If you interrupt me again then I'll not be happy. Do you understand?" He asked, his voice becoming louder still, sterner even.

"I understand Charles." He replied. "Please, go on."

"I was born September 6th 1950, only to be gunned down, killed, by one of you cowardly fucks thirty-eight years later." David's voice had more than a hint of venom and aggression as he rattled the sentence off.

"Thirty-eight years? That'd make it what? 1988? I'm confused here Charles, because you don't look a day over thirty to me." Adams was used to hearing crazy stories, and this was shaping up to be a classic.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT INTERRUPING?" David screamed, lifting his head, his face dripping with sweat, twisted with rage. The cop on the door stepped forward as Detective Adams held his hands up, silently telling him to back off. He knew there was no danger. This guy was handcuffed to his seat, he'd have to be crazier than he looked to even try something.

"It's okay. It's okay, calm down. Please, carry on..." He politely tried to defuse the situation. "What happened after you were gunned down? Was this here? In San Diego?"

"No," He calmed his voice. "It was in Chicago. November 9th 1988, the corner of Wabash and Van Buren, some toy store!"

"Okay. So, forgive me for asking this, but..." He paused, trying desperately not to antagonise him even further. "If you died in 1988, then how do you explain your being here? In front of me... Right now."

David threw his head back, laughing as the light shone from above, illuminating his face, the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

"I passed my damn soul into some doll!" He laughed manically. "Do you believe that? Before that night I wouldn't have believed it either, but here I am. I've been trapped in there ever since. You never heard of me? Charles Lee Ray! The Lakeshore Strangler!? And now I'm back and you fuckers can get ready, because when I get out of here," He lowered his face to stare Detective Adams out, disgust emanated from every word. "I'm coming for every motherfucking last one of you! Then I'm coming for your families, and I'm gonna have me a fucking good time with them. Do you fucking get me now? You son of a bitch!"

With that Detective Adams stood, the chair screeching as it slid across the concrete floor of the interrogation room. Grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, he flung it around his shoulders and slipped his arms into the sleeves. Finally able to light his cigarette, he cupped his hands over his mouth and addressed the street cop by the door.

"Come on," He quietly said. "We're wasting our time with this basket case."

As he opened the door, they both stepped through, into the corridor of the police department. The laughter of Charles Lee Ray growing louder and more disturbing with every breath, echoing through the halls, catching the attention of everyone and anyone within earshot.

The sound of a crazy bastard.

As they walked, Detective Adams turned to the young street cop, removing the cigarette from his mouth and releasing the nicotine stained toxins from his lungs.

""Joe isn't it?" He asked as he clenched the cigarette between his teeth once more.

"Yes sir." The young officer replied.

"Well then Joe. Tell me that wasn't the craziest thing you ever saw." He asked, as they approached the booking in desk.

"I think it's safe to say it definitely was sir!" Joe replied. Just approaching his first year since making the force, Joe had seen some pretty strange things in the last twelve months, but this was shaping up to be one of the more bizarre ones alright. "You think he's tripping on something?"

"No." Adams shook his head as he reached over the booking desk and grabbed the phone. "He's had his bloods and urine done. He's clean." He picked up the handset and started dialling one of the numbers from an information chart on the desk.

"Well what do you think it could be?" Joe asked again.

"Jesus Joe." Adams spun round, removing the cigarette once more, phone held to his ear. "Whatever happened to just plain old crazy huh?" He laughed slightly as he finished.

Joe smirked and nodded. He was right. Suddenly Adams spoke into the phone.

"Yeah, get me doctor Wilde." He growled, turning to Joe and covering the mouth piece with his hand. "How's that? Guy's called Wilde. Where does he end up working? Fucking mental hospital!"

They both laughed as Adams waited on the phone. It didn't take long before he was connected to the mysterious Dr Wilde.

"Yeah doc, it's Detective Adams... Down at SDPD? Yeah, SDPD! Yeah, that's me. Listen..." He waved his arms as he spoke, becoming slightly more exaggerated each time. "...We got a guy down here you're gonna want to come check out."

Quiet as Adams listened, his eyes narrowing again as he concentrated.

"Yeah, you could say that... What? Attempted murder. What's weird about him? Oh nothing much. Claims to be some guy called Charles Lee Ray? What you mean that's so nineties? You gonna come down here or not, because if I have to go over your head with this... Ah, good. I'll have him ready for ya then!"

He replaced the handset and turned to Joe.

"Fuckin' smart ass!" He sneered. "Come on Joe, I'll let you give Mr Jacobs the good news."

"What news sir?" Joe seemed suddenly nervous as Adams grabbed his neck, marching down the corridor with him.

"He's just secured himself a booking at San Diegos premiere nut house! Longcroft Asylum!"

Now, as he woke, he had no idea what day it was. He didn't even know how long he'd been there. As the light gently seeped in through the window high up in the room, only a narrow one, but a window none the less, he curled up on his bed and shivered. He tried to breathe, but his breath was shallow and stuttering, unable to take a solid breath as his lungs flared in pain, the thudding of his slow, weak heart reverberating around his entire body and pounding in his ears. The bare brick of the cold, damp room had started to become monotonous too, like a recurring nightmare every time he opened his eyes. The heavy steel door, the only way in and out, didn't offer any kind of comfort as the guards occasionally slid the chest high latch open to check on the condition of the various patients. He thought back to Green Acre, the room Nica Pirce had been placed in. That was like a hotel compared to this place. Here he had his bed, his very basic, dirty, toilet and... That was it. But he couldn't give a shit right now. He couldn't even be bothered to kick a fuss up with the guards. He had no energy, all he wanted to do was sleep, but it was becoming impossible. Every night the same dream. Flames bursting into life around him, a long skeletal, decaying hand, reaching out and grabbing him by the wrist, carrying him off into the pitch black abyss. 'It must mean something.' He'd think. Something was wrong with him, but he didn't know what, and that was the thing driving him insane. He seriously felt like shit. As he curled up on the cheap, spring filled mattress, he pulled the covers over his body as the trembling continued, getting worse every day. His hands felt numb, his back seemed to be seizing up and his skin had turned pale, while all along it glistened with constant beads of sweat as he appeared, to the common eye, to be burning up. But nothing could be further from the truth, he was cold, ice cold. It was as though... 'No that couldn't be it', he told himself.

But it felt like...

It felt like death.