Chapter 7
Dazed, shaken and confused, Nica opened her eyes, her head spinning as she tried to catch her breath, the arena of grey concrete filling her vision as she slowly came round. She blinked, her eyes blurred, beginning to focus even more on her surroundings. Questions flooding her brain. Where was she? A car park? How had she ended up here? Where was Jimmy? In the distance she could make out a building. A huge, steel construction, no windows but a solitary door, the streetlight to the right, the only light on offer as it flickered on and off. The concrete under her wheelchair seemed uneven as she placed her hands on the rubber surrounding her wheels and started to push herself forward, propelling herself gradually towards the building, towards the narrow, heavy, metal door. As she moved, the car park seemed to grow longer, for some reason she moved forward but found herself further and further away, eventually lowering her head and pushing harder, faster, grunting as she made way. Before she knew it, she looked up and found herself in front of the building, almost within touching distance, light grey and shining in the flickering light, the buzzing from the light bulb suddenly audible as it blinked. On and off. Dark to light. The randomness disturbing to Nica as her eyes flitted left to right. The building seemed to have grown in size, not in height, but in width, the steel structure stretching on forever in both directions as Nica sat stunned, wondering what the hell was happening. She lowered her gaze, concentrating, trying desperately to retrace her steps, remember what had happened, her thoughts interrupted as the light flickered one final time, breathing it's last breath, Nica's immediate environment plunged into darkness and panicking her. As she lifted her head, her heart banging in her chest she struggled to see a thing, such was the atmosphere surrounding her. But as she twisted and turned, thrusting her head from left to right, a light appeared in front of her as the door swung open, the hinges creaking and sending a shiver down Nica's spine. She found herself engulfed in light, spilling from the interior, the illumination growing across the floor, reaching her chair, working up her legs before eventually embracing her, the warmth spreading throughout her body and inviting her in. Without even thinking, Nica grabbed her wheels and rolled forward, nothing visible in the light emitted from the doorway as Nica found herself turning her head away, her eyes stinging, blinded. Before she knew it she had crossed the threshold and was carried into the light, the brightness beginning to fade and her surroundings now beginning to take shape. Bright colours everywhere. Reds, blues, greens, yellows, oranges, you name it the colours were scattered left and right, high and low, the noise of machinery humming away, the volume increasing steadily. Before she knew it, the door behind her slammed shut, the noise deafening as she turned in shock, the droning of the machinery and various equipment now dangerously high decibels. Boxes were stacked dizzyingly high on either side, as she emerged from the cardboard corridor, bright yellow, emblazoned with the slogan, "He Wants You For A Best Friend." Nica recognised these boxes, she had seen them multiple times over the last 6 months as she had performed her research, investigated the past. These empty boxes were intended for a mass production of Good Guy dolls, the factory she now found herself in no doubt churning them out by the truck full, something perfectly evident as Nica looked out across the factory floor. Dolls stood on a conveyor belt, noisily shunted from one section to the next as they underwent the automated procedures which would turn them from simple plastic moulds, into every kids most prized possession. These weren't normal Good Guy dolls though, Nica noticing as she approached the conveyor belt, doll after doll whizzing past. Some were normal, red hair and freckles. Some were stitched, the clothes shredded, dirty, faded. Others were missing half of their face, a mass of tangled veins, blood and bone. Nica pulled a disgusted face as a group of blood soaked Good Guys juddered past, the belt pausing only slightly as a machine lowered itself automatically and stitched hair atop the dolls heads. It was only then, in the corner of her eye she noticed movement. A little further down the production line, across a cluster of belts, there was a man, small and chubby, his brown smock instantly distinguishable among the sea of colours. He had his back to Nica and was stood at a machine, clip board in hand, ticking items off as he checked the huge, bubbling vat of freshly melted plastic in front of him. The vat of plastic was tall and red, with a valve just slightly above the man's head as he carried on with his work, the occasional drip landing on the shoulder of his smock and beginning to melt it, smoking slightly as it did so. Nica tried shouting to him, but it was no use, he couldn't hear her over the noise of the factory machinery, belts running here and there, doors sliding open and closed, automated arms grabbing various doll parts before vigorously fitting them to the blank doll torsos thrust in their direction. Moving forward and making her way around the lines of conveyor belts, Nica finally made her way through the metal and rubber maze and approached the man, his back still facing her.
"Hey!" She yelled loudly, trying hard to get his attention.
Suddenly the man stopped. Freezing on the spot and lowering his arms to his side before turning slowly, in one fluid motion and facing Nica. She could have been sick at the sight that greeted her, the valve of the machinery above still leaking slightly, still dripping and landing on the man's shoulder. His face looked lost, his eyes hanging free from their dark, crimson sockets and resting on his cheeks, his lower jaw completely ripped off, various arteries and a row of upper teeth exposed, his skin pale, almost white, contrasted heavily by his incredibly short dark hair. He reached a hand out for Nica and took a small, staggering step forward, Nica screaming at the top of her lungs, her shrieks and cries for helps almost drowning out the sounds of the factory. Just as she screamed the valve on the machinery above the factory worker started to shake rigorously, suddenly failing and allowing a huge spray of hot, melted plastic to cover the man, stopping him before he could take another step, his body melting instantly into the plastic river, appearing on the floor and spreading towards Nica's feet. She lifted her hands to her mouth in terror, shock and confusion as she took in the sight, the man now nowhere to be seen, completely destroyed, swept away in a current of hot, liquid goo. She was just sat, trying to make sense of her predicament as she heard the familiar cackle of laughter from behind her, instincts taking over Nica spun on the spot, met by the sight of Chucky standing on the conveyor belt as he gently floated past, blending in perfectly as he readied his knife and swung it at Nica's head. Ducking, burying her head in her lap and immediately wheeling herself backwards, Nica looked up, ready for the next attack. But there was none. No Chucky either. The factory, she noticed, had all of a sudden dropped eerily quiet and been cast into an ocean of darkness. The once vibrant colours faded, the clean and productive machinery now rusted, falling to pieces, as rats hurried about searching for whatever scraps of food they could. The dirt, dust and cobwebs surrounding Nica, lent the pace an unnerving atmosphere as moonlight shone in through the skylights high up in the semi caved in roof, highlighting the spiders and rats as they ran along the beams up in the rafters of the factory. Hearing a noise to her left, Nica turned her attention over to the far corner of the factory floor. A doorway into another section of the factory had appeared, no door in place, just rubber strips floating and flapping in the breeze. Curiosity getting the better of her, Nica started to move, making her way past the seized conveyor belts and across the dusty floor of the building. Besides the conveyor belt, there sat a small, hardened mountain of melted plastic, blood running from the top, arms sticking out, bits of hair here and there. The look of the thing gave Nica the creeps as she gave it a wide berth and made her way over to the rubber strips of the doorway, reaching it pretty quickly. She stopped short of heading in, trying to focus her eyes, the rubber strips clouding Nica's vision slightly as they flapped delicately, the breeze passing over Nica as she folded her arms across her chest and rubbed herself in an effort to get warm, the jeans and t-shirt she had on not fit for late night breezes. As she stared into the abyss of darkness behind the doorway, she heard a voice. A sick whisper, hissing and floating along the cool night air, reaching Nica's ears and sending her senses into meltdown. The voice seemed to be calling to her, tinged with malevolence and playfully taunting her as it called her name.
"Niiicaaaaaaa..." It whispered to her sadistically.
A light cold be spotted in the back of the next room, flickering, as the one outside the building had done just moments ago. Nica held her hand in front of her face and reached out, grabbing one of the rubber strips and peeling it to one side, trying o enhance her vision, get a clearer view of what awaited her on the other side. No sooner had she touched the strip than a hand shot out, small, rubber, stitches running across the back of it, grabbing Nica by the wrist and dragging her inside, one quick seamless motion. Nica screamed as she instantly came to a halt inside the room, nothing there, nobody, just an empty room, the light visible from outside breathing its last gasp of life before giving up the ghost, the room in complete darkness. As Nica sat, panting, her breath the only noise, black, darkness the only sight, she felt her chest. Sure enough her heart was banging like a drum, but there were no stitches on her chest. She pulled the collar of her t-shirt down to investigate. Could this be right? But it was. Her skin was pure, no scar, no stitches, just a dusky peach canvas, beautiful and untouched. As she began to calm down, her eyes were blinded once more, her retinas screaming in pain as lights of every colour were beamed around the room, the brightness bouncing back off the walls as fairground music began to play through the ridiculously underpowered factory PA system, cutting out and crackling every now and then, but still at full volume, Nica's ears ringing as the noise vibrated around the room. Throwing her hands up to her ears, Nica clenched her eyes shut, wishing this would end, calmness leaving her mind as she felt herself beginning to crack up. Then suddenly... It stopped. The music, the lights, the sickness Nica had been feeling as she became overwhelmed with the light and noise. Opening her eyes and taking in the cold, dark, empty room, Nica slowly and gingerly lowered her hands from her ears and sat back in her wheelchair, taking a deep breath and giving her eyes a blink, savouring the return to a normal environment. She had only just began to feel a little safer when Chucky appeared, upside down, inches from her face, a demented look of pleasure scraped across his ugly little face as he screamed manically at her, Nica flinching, gasping in shock, closing her eyes, expecting the worst. But it never came. There was no sound of his knife cutting through thin air on its way to her neck, no pain spreading throughout her body as he inflicted stab after stab upon her helpless, vulnerable body. Instead, as she opened her eyes, she found herself somewhere else, somewhere familiar. Back in one of the generic, sterile, dark corridors of Green Acre Mental Facility. Nica was confused. Her mind starting to race, make sense of what was happening, when she noticed a figure up ahead. As her eyes focused down the corridor, they landed on the figure of David Jacobs, stood by a door, his body rotting from the inside out. Hair falling freely from his scalp, teeth weeping with blood as he moved his blistered lips and waved a long, flesh deprived finger, beckoning Nica to follow as he turned and disappeared through the door, dragging a bloody stump of a leg behind him as he left a trail of flesh blood, warm enough to steam in the cold night air. Racing forward, faster with each roll of the wheels, Nica finally reached the door, spinning to her right and into the room beyond, but David wasn't there. The room was lit by a lone light, the lamp in the corner on the desk doing a decent job, leaving only the deepest corners of the room cloaked in darkness. As she spun her head and surveyed her new surroundings, she discovered eight gurneys lined up against the far wall, a body bag laying still atop each one. Turning to face the gurneys and slowly, apprehensively moving towards them Nica felt a chill as she reached the first body bag, blood oozing slowly from inside, the name tag hanging from the zip of the closed bag. Lifting the name tag and turning it over in her hand, she discovered the name of her mother, Sarah Pirce. For some reason, Nica wasn't shocked, it was as though she had known to expect it all along, the brain readying itself in advance. Moving onto the next gurney, thick, viscous blood leaking from the zipper once more, she lifted the next name tag, unsurprisingly belonging to Father Frank. She then moved onto the next gurney, the same scenario again. This time the name on the tag was Jill, her sister's nanny and lover. Next up, her sister Barb, then Ian, then Dr Abigail Weston. All people that Nica had known to be Chucky's victims. The final two gurneys were different though. There was no blood dripping freely from these bags. Nica couldn't tell just by looking whether they were occupied, they didn't seem as full as the others. She reached for the name tag and was unpleasantly surprised. The name sending a crackle of fear into every hair on her body.
'Nica Pirce'.
Confused, frightened and in shock, Nica grabbed the zip, her hands trembling, and yanked the zipper the length of the bag, immediately recoiling as spiders, scorpions and all manner of disgusting creatures and insects spilled out over the floor, the corpse inside that of Nica herself. Pale, ghost white in fact and at peace, a calm smile on her beautiful face. As Nica took the sight in she wheeled up to her body and looked, tears filling her eyes. Suddenly the corpse's eyes flew open, the milk white pupils flashing with mischievous rage as the dead body sat up, swinging its legs over the side of the gurney and throwing its hands around Nica's throat and squeezing. Nica gasped as she closed her eyes, willing her attacker off of her, fighting for breath as she felt the hands gripping her frail, swan like neck. Nica opened her eyes, hardly able to breathe and noticed the corpse was gone, the hands wrapped around her neck actually belonging to herself as she let go and took a deep, agonising breath and stared at her hands, held out in front of her face, examining them like some foreign object, programmed to kill. Leaning forward instantly Nica started vomiting across the cold, cement floor of the room she had found herself in. As she calmed down, she composed herself and sat up, leaning back and taking one last, long deep breath. Looking back at the bag with her name across the tag, she found it zipped back up, nothing inside awaiting discovery. She gave a little shake of her head as she moved onto the last bag, the name on the zipper belonging to Andy Barclay. Giving the bag a quick one over, she was astonished to find the bag empty. Nothing inside whatsoever, no nasty little surprises, no body, nothing. At this point, Nica heard a sound from behind her, a thudding noise, just the one, very short, and very loud. Turning to see what had just happened, she found the door used to enter the room now gone, in the far corner of the room now sat a table. Not just any table, but an operating table, the tray of surgical equipment by its side as a thin, white bed sheet slowly drifted from the high up in the ceiling and came to a rest across the table, the edges of the fabric hanging over the sides and waving slightly in the constant breeze. As Nica moved closer, she took in the sight of the tray of surgical equipment and started to feel sick, queasy and dizzy. Bone saws, chisels, scalpels, drills, all manner of tools sending the nausea racing through her. As her head began to spin, Nica couldn't tell what was happening, she closed her eyes, hoping to god the drunken feeling would dissipate, that her head would clear. But as she opened her eyes, she noticed that all was not as it had been. She was no longer in her wheelchair, instead she now found herself laying flat on her back along the operating table, wrists restrained by the chains attached to the top corners of the table, too strong, Nica finding the struggle she put up to prove pointless. As she tried to calm down, think rationally, Nica stared at the ceiling, her eyes beginning to take in the tapestry of despair painted above. Demons circling a tree made of human faces, each one screaming in eternal agony as they lingered in perpetual pain and suffering, trapped souls tortured and delivered by the demons to some kind of deity. All of a sudden, a nurse approached Nica as she lay, now paralysed, on the operating table. She hadn't noticed at first, but the 'click, click' of the nurses heels were now increasingly evident as she came to a stop besides Nica. Her shoulder length blonde hair topped off with a square, white nurses hat, the heaving chest threatening to overflow from the nurses uniform already filled to bursting with the incredibly voluptuous figure. The long legs, thinly veiled beneath the seamed, black stockings that came to a halt just before the short, tight uniform began. As she stood, looking at Nica, she leaned forward and ran her nose up the side of Nica's face, taking a deep breath. Nica noticed the tattoo across the top of the woman's breast.
'Chucky'.
Could this be? Nica couldn't believe it. Could this be the woman from the grave yard? How was this possible? Deep in thought, Nica was startled suddenly by the roaring sound of laughter on her other side, turning her head immediately to find none other than Chucky, stood by her side on the table, head back, shrieking with evil joy, scalpel gripped fiercely in his hand. As he leaned over Nica, he placed his face right up to hers, their noses almost touching and softly, spoke, his stale breath clouding Nica's face.
"Are we having fun yet?" He whispered calmly, before suddenly throwing his head back and roaring with laughter again.
Nica struggled again, but it was no use. Suddenly Chucky brought the scalpel crashing down, gouging into Nica's chest. Thrusting back and forth, violently jerking the scalpel downwards, Chucky laughed as the blonde ran her hand across her chest, the joy she was experiencing slightly sexual as she bit her lip and smiled as she stared into Nica's eyes. As Nica screamed in pain, searing and tearing through every nerve in her body, the nurse began to laugh, a low giggle at first, giving way to bellowing laughter. As Nica turned to Chucky, she began to feel him reach into the cavity, now opened up in her chest and start tugging, softly at first, then harder, rougher, suddenly lifting Nica's heart from her chest as he man handled it, fascination written across his face as he thrust it towards her, shrieking before holding it high above his head in one hand. As Nica's eyes were focused on her still beating heart, agony and confusion rolled into one expression, Chucky reached into his overalls and withdrew his knife, Nica noticing too late as he violently ran the serrated edge of the blade across her throat. Blood, muscles and arteries suddenly exposed as the blood began to stream from Nica's open wound as she leaned her head back and let out the loudest, most intense scream she had ever heard.
"Nica..." Chucky hissed as he sat on her chest, hatred pouring from his eyes and infecting Nica's very soul.
She looked into his eyes, freezing with terror.
"Nica!" Jimmy yelled as he spun round in his cab, throwing his arm back over the seat as he shouted for Nica to wake up. Nica's neck snapped forward, her eyes springing open automatically as she jumped in her seat, her hands instinctively reaching for her throat as she gasped sharply, a short, stuttering intake of breath entering her lungs. It took a second or two before she realised where she was and what had happened, but even as she began to relax, she could feel her heart thud up against her rib cage as the adrenaline, racing around her system, peaked and started to subside. Hands on her throat, Nica lowered her grip and spread her hands wide, palms flat across her breasts as she felt for her scar. Thick and ugly, running half the length of her chest, a constant reminder, a battle scar if you will, of her ordeals suffered at the hands of Charles Lee Ray. The pain, starting off deep beneath the scar had now started to steadily ripple, growing outwards across her chest, the intense throbbing making Nica close her eyes once more, taking deep slow breaths as the agony abated. As the pain began to die, she lifted her head and took in the sight of Jimmy, concern across his face as he sat open mouthed, unsure what he was witnessing, or even how he could help.
"Jesus." He muttered as he tilted his head slightly.
"I'm okay." Nica answered as she sat back, resting up against the rear seats of Jimmy's cab. She grimaced as another wave of intense pain washed over her, another deep breath. "This happens sometimes."
"Yeah?" Jimmy asked. "I never seen nothing like it!"
"Was I asleep?" Nica stared with confusion at him.
"Yeah. For the last half hour, maybe forty minutes. Something like that. Since we left the interstate anyway. But..." He left his sentence unfinished as he turned back around, face forward, and opened the driver's door of his cab, taking a step into the burnt orange night as the sun set across Chicago. He slammed his door and walked around to Nica's side of the cab, opening her door and leaning forward, eyes almost level, before finishing his sentence. "...we're here now."
Nica looked past him and out onto the sidewalk, the huge red brick structure of the Harold Washington Library awaiting her as Jimmy turned and approached the trunk of the cab, gently lifting Nica's wheelchair onto the kerb and unfolding it before leaving it besides the door and watching her perform her gymnastic performance, making her transition from cab to chair in record time.
"You want me to wait?" He asked, Nica turning and acknowledging him. "They'll be closing soon, so I can always hang around."
Nica nodded, smiling as he returned to the cab, radioing back to base. She turned and took in the beauty of the Harold Washington Library. It was huge. The red bricks topped off with green, turquoise steel and glass, with what looked like dragons adorning the apex and four corners of the roof. Nica had never seen a building quite like this, terrifying yet strangely welcoming at the same time. Dropping her eyes and starting to move forward towards the entrance, Nica spotted a smartly dressed gentleman, no older than fifty five, but no younger than his late forties approaching from the other side of the glass doors. His smile rigid, his small, almost pointless glasses sat low, right on the tip of his nose as he held the door open, welcoming her in.
"Good evening." He greeted Nica as she passed through the entrance. "You must be Miss Pirce."
Nica held out her hand, once inside the lobby of the library and smiled, her head still feeling a touch groggy from her sporadic nightmare just minutes ago.
"That's right and you must be Professor Cobb?" She beamed.
"Indeed I am Miss Pirce." He started.
"Please." She interrupted, "Call me Nica."
"Very well Nica." He replied withdrawing his hand, slipping it inside the breast pocket of his waist coat and removing a fob watch. Flicking the fob watch open he noted the time before returning his attention to Nica. "Unfortunately we don't have very long until the library is due to close, half an hour in fact. If you'd care to follow me, I've seen to it that any suitable reading material be arranged on the far table."
As they left the lobby, Nica was amazed. The huge library seemed like a ghost town, a mass of empty tables, librarians up ladders, pushing trolleys, replacing various books that some of the more careless of visitors had deemed too much effort to return themselves. Crossing the hardwood floor, they skirted in and out of a few rows of tables before finally reaching the table that Professor Cobb had so kindly set aside for her. At first, Nica was shocked. She had expected more than this. As she looked at the table, she could see only two books awaiting her perusal, not big books either, thin books that maybe had half a dozen pages of the hundreds within covering the subject she wished to study.
"Is this it?" She asked as she pulled up alongside the table, gesturing to the duo of paperbacks.
"I'm afraid so." Professor Cobb answered her apologetically. "Based on your requests, we were only able to pin point these two books."
"I see." Nica replied flatly, disappointment etched across her face, jumping suddenly, as did Professor Cobb, the entrance to the library closing with an almighty bang as somebody else entered. Both Nica and her chaperone turned to acknowledge their guest, taking a seat at the far end of the library, near the entrance, picking up one of the random books left laying around. Tall, well built and with a shaven head, Nica sensed something about this man as he coyly looked up, the apple in his hand more or less finished. Nica guessed him to be of Caribbean descent, maybe at around the mid-forties age, similar to Professor Cobb, as he turned his attention back to the book now lying open on the table beneath his eyes.
"There isn't much in the way of that kind of thing really." Professor Cobb spoke up as he returned his gaze to Nica. She spun her head, listening as he continued. "The occult? That kind of thing? Not really much demand for it I'm afraid. In fact, I don't think I've ever had anybody come to me with these requests. Voodoo, deities, witchcraft. There are a few paragraphs towards the back of the larger book, the name you mentioned, it pops up a few times. Damballa was it?"
Nica nodded as she grabbed the larger of the two books, opening it to the page Professor Cobb had kindly bookmarked. He was just about to turn and leave, before offering Nica some advice regarding the literature she sought.
"May I suggest, in the event that these books are less than sufficient, that you phone around a few book stores?" He leaned forward as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Some more specialist than others, maybe dealing exclusively with the occult?"
"Well." Nica replied. "I guess I can try these before going down that path. And what you've found, it's better than nothing. Thank you for this, it's appreciated really. I'll have a quick look through and be out of here in no time."
"It's no problem Nica, honestly." He smiled. "Though we do close in just under half an hour, so I'm afraid I'll have to insist on locking up at that time."
Nica once again nodded, as Professor Cobb spun on his heels and quickly marched away, back to the huge, oak desk near the entrance to the library, his shoes tapping as he walked. She took another glance at her fellow book enthusiast as he set his apple core down on the desk, raising his eyes slightly, almost as though checking on her. But he couldn't be... Could he? Nica instantly dismissed the idea, even after all the farfetched events that had brought her to this library, where she now sat, about to read up on the mythical Damballa. Focussing on the page, she was disheartened. The book actually saying very little, but speaking of a demon, the picture alongside depicting a winged creature, perched on a roof over looking a small town. With horns and a long, sharp tail flung out behind, the demon looked menacing as it sat, head turned towards the reader, sharp teeth displayed through the vulgar, menacing smile as its forked tongue hung from its mouth, whipping in the night wind. This demon was apparently hailed in the Caribbean as a god of sorts, the harvester of souls, taking from the weak and feeble and bleeding dry those unable to fend him off. The book painted it as a long lost relative of Satan, more mischievous, yet terrifying and as prone to violence as anything the western world had ever suffered. The rumour had it that the demon Damballa would stalk its prey, casting illness and dementia over them before pouncing, tormenting and driving the victim insane, only then able to offer the promise of paradise as the afterlife beckoned, lies spun from the wickedly silk tongue as it delivered yet another soul to its cousin, the devil himself. The book had nothing to say other than that, which left Nica feeling a little pissed off. Nevertheless, she was determined to see what she could discover, turning to the second book and opening that at the appropriately marked page. She couldn't believe it, the books were almost identical. Not word for word, but they spoke of the same thing. A demon, souls, evil, wicked, mischievous, Nica threw her head back and groaned, the noise reverberating around the huge room. As she lowered her head and closed her eyes, the stresses of the day beginning to finally take effect, she felt her privacy intruded. Opening her eyes, she turned and noticed the stranger in the far corner of the library sat staring at her. Not for a couple of seconds, but permanently, his eyes burning deep into her, almost as though he was trying to read her mind. Without saying a word, he stood up casually, throwing his finished apple in the trash as he made his way through the tables, easing his way across the floor and approaching Nica. Nica didn't know what to think, and as she looked up, she felt relief as she could see Professor Cobb still sat behind his desk, just in case things took an unexpected twist. As he approached her, he calmly and coolly perched himself on the corner of Nica's table, one leg on the floor, the other slightly raised, his hands held together across his waist. Then suddenly he spoke. His thick West Indian accent soothing, his face friendly and glowing with a warm aura.
"Miss Pirce." He began. "Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jeffrey Walwin."
Nica was stunned, questions racing to the surface immediately.
"How do you know my name?" She asked as she looked over the desk, nothing giving her name away, just the two books, now slammed shut as Nica tired of falling at every hurdle.
"I know all about you." He replied with a slight laugh. "Tell me, how have you been since the events up at Green Acre?"
Without warning, Nica pushed herself away, backing up from the table before suddenly pushing forwards and attempting to squeeze past her uninvited visitor.
"God damn." She spat. "I'm not in any mood for reporters!"
She started to roll of, her visitor still sat gently on the edge of her table, his raised leg swinging limply.
"Miss Pirce." He softly called after her. "I am not a reporter."
"Bull shit!" She turned and swore over her shoulder as she wheeled towards the exit.
"Miss Pirce it is important that you listen." He continued talking, Nica nearing the entrance, not stopping, not listening, her intention purely to get out of there. "I am here, because I represent an organisation that requires your help, and also an organisation that can offer the help you so require."
"Whatever." Nica sighed as she carried on.
Standing from the table, the man spoke louder, doing and saying whatever he could to get Nica to stop, to believe him, to at least listen to what he had to say.
"I assure you Miss Pirce, I am telling you the truth."
Nica put her hand out, almost at the door, just a few more feet, the voice carrying on behind her.
"Or may Damballa strike me down!"
Nica froze, her hand just beginning to wrap around the door handle as the words filtered through her ears and into her head, instantly snapping Nica's interest from the door. She removed her now trembling hand and placed it on the wheel of her chair, spinning very slowly and fixing her mysterious guest a stare. A curious stare, apprehensive, full of questions. As she sat, motionless, he began to walk towards her, hardly making a sound across the floor, the delicate footsteps almost giving the impression he was gliding effortlessly across a frozen lake. Reaching Nica he dropped to one knee and placed a hand on her wrist, smiling as he looked into her eyes and spoke, Nica relaxing even more with each word the stranger uttered.
"There is no reason." He began. "To fear Damballa Miss Pirce."
"What makes you so sure I fear Damballa?" She asked, her nerves making her voice break as she spoke.
"The books." He motioned back over his shoulder, towards the table, with his eyes. "Do not believe the lies. Damballa can show you many things, 'I' can show you many things. But we must go, and we must go now."
He quickly stood, his expression turning serious.
"Come with me," He spoke. "For there is much you need to know."
Nica didn't know what the hell she was playing at as the car pulled away from the sidewalk, the Harold Washington Library slowly becoming just another building in the wing mirror of Jeffrey's Lexus. As they took off and into the early, November evening, the unusually warm sunlight giving way to a fresh, crisp chill as the sun had finally disappeared, Nica had found herself desperate for answers, the questions she had dancing on the tip of her tongue hopefully about to be met with said answers at the private location Jeffrey had insisted she accompany him to. He had promised that on the way he would tell her the real story, explain everything about Damballa that Nica needed to know, and to his credit, he immediately set about doing just that.
"So who are you working for exactly?" Nica asked as they made their way through an intersection, the lights changing to green as the car approached.
"It is not who I work for Miss Pirce," He replied with a grin, his brilliant white teeth exposed. "It is who I am representing. We have been following you for a while now."
"Following me?" Nica was stunned. "Since when? How long?"
"We first came to know about you some months ago. Your story in the paper, on the news, the killer doll. What happened there was very unfortunate for you. We would have acted sooner, but 'he' told us to be patient, time would present this opportunity."
"Who told you to be patient? Who exactly is 'he'?" Nica asked in astonishment.
"That does not matter right now. You will find out soon enough." Jeffrey checked his mirrors and signalled, turning the corner and climbing the on ramp of the freeway.
"Well then what can you tell me?" She shouted, irritated, her hands raised.
"Hackensack." Jeffrey replied, focusing on the road.
"What?" Nica asked.
"You asked since when have we been following you. The answer is Hackensack." Jeffrey answered Nica.
"Hackensack?" She seemed confused, as though trying to remember something, a date, a time. "The graveyard? You were watching me in the grave yard?"
"Indeed." Jeffrey nodded as he quickly turned his attention to her, then back to the road and the traffic up ahead. "I watched from afar, you standing at the grave of the man who causes all this mess."
"The grave? You mean Charles Lee Ray?" She asked.
"That is correct. I represent what is known as the Council of Damballa." He hurriedly spoke. "Until recently all was well, but then the episode with your family, the doll, everything brought us chaos. Damballa not happy that this man, this thing, uses Damballa's power, Damballa's name for such evil. We now believe your bloodline to be under significant threat from the wicked thing that Charles Lee Ray has become!"
"My bloodline?" Nica was shocked, confused. "I don't understand. He destroyed my fucking bloodline. They're all dead."
"Not necessarily so." Jeffrey replied. "But enough of that. I've already said more than I should. This is not my job to tell you this."
"Then what the fuck can you tell me?" She asked, throwing her arms in the air again, this stranger with all the answers, yet nothing to offer her.
"Those books you read." He turned to her, his expression one of disgust, his tone one of fury. "In the library. Lies, all lies."
"What lies?" Nica asked.
"Damballa. They are wrong. He is nothing of the sort. No harvester of souls, no friend of Satan." Jeffrey shook his head.
"You've read those books?" Nica turned to Jeffrey.
"Yes, and others." He replied. "Wrong, all of them wrong. Words of white man, fear running through the heart, they try to blacken his name by spreading such lies, as has been the way for centuries."
"So if that's lies, then what's the truth?" Nica begged.
Suddenly, Jeffrey jerked the steering wheel, pulling the car over by the side of the road and killing the engine. He composed himself for a few seconds, before turning to Nica and beginning his truth.
"These books all speak of Damballa as a demon, an evil entity striking people down, stealing their very soul in exchange for praise from Satan." Jeffrey began.
"That's not the case. You've said that." Nica answered.
"No. These are merely the ignorant, hideous views of white men from centuries past. They witness Damballa first hand and seek to eradicate him from history, their religions exposed as weak and without evidence. Damballa was not like that."
"What do you mean?" Nica enquired. "You're saying that Christianity and Catholicism have tried to subdue this god of yours because they actually witnessed his powers?"
He looked at Nica for a second, his eyes glassy, before nodding.
"That is a better way than I ever could put it Miss Pirce." He smiled. "In our culture, Damballa is a god. One of many, but a significant god all the same. He is the gatherer of souls, ferrying the dead into the afterlife, welcoming them with open arms, but with the power to grant a second chance before the soul reaches its destination."
"Second chance?" Nica didn't understand.
"Yes." Jeffrey sat back, staring straight ahead as he spoke, traffic whizzing past. "sometimes, a person may have unfinished business, important things need addressing. In our culture, we believe Damballa has the power to grant a second chance, a chance to live again, but with grave consequences."
"Which are?" Nica motioned for Jeffrey to continue.
"If a second chance is granted, then the soul will eventually become the property of Damballa. That is the deal, a second chance in exchange for the soul."
"And do people actually take that?" Nica couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"Indeed some do." He nodded. "Take our mutual friend Mr Ray. Damballa not happy that an outsider such as this is able to continuously abuse powers not meant for him. Nor was he happy with the man that gave him such information in the first place, allowing him to return, time after time, again and again, each time Damballa's hatred growing."
"You said that other, more mainstream, religions fought to keep your god down, almost wipe him from the pages of every religious book going. What happened there?" Nica asked, her interest growing.
"This all happened many hundreds of years ago, in the Caribbean, when men from Europe first discovered the region." Jeffrey explained. "The island of St Vincent to be precise. Rumour has it that, years before, a man appeared. Entering a small village, the tribe slowly dying as diseases such as cholera, leprosy and many others took their toll. Then one day, after being allowed to rest, eat, drink, the strange visitor lays his hand on these people. Overnight, their fevers disappear, their lesions heal, in once case it is said that a man recently passed was brought back, a second chance if you will."
"Shit..." Nica gasped, unsure what to make of the story so far. But then she figured anything was possible, that had been proven recently.
"After this, the man was hailed by the villagers as a god among men, a miracle worker for his gift, a blessing on the village, and all was well."
"Until...?" Nica pleaded with Jeffrey to continue.
"Until one day, boats weigh anchor off shore, white men, never before seen in these parts. They come to shore and the man from the village meets them, offers them food, drink. White men, European, offer gun powder, bandages but the villagers do not require these things. They simply tell their visitors to take as much food and drink as they can carry. Unfortunately the peace is short lived. A handful of white men invited to join the villagers for the night, meet the tribe and experience some Caribbean culture. The men from the ships fetch alcohol, rum and wine. One of the men becomes rough with a tribe members daughter, raping her in full view of almost everybody. The man from the village becomes enraged at the actions of the visitors, raising his hands and chanting with furious anger. Clouds rumbled overhead, rain immediately began lashing from the skies, the ocean bubbling as waves, hundreds of feet high engulf the ships, dragging all but two to the bottom of the ocean. The man chants beginning to rip the very soul of the rapist from his now decaying body, casting him into a never ending purgatory."
"My god," Nica whispered as she turned her gaze from Jeffrey, taking every little detail in. "So what happened after that?"
"The remaining visitors flee back to their ships and lay in wait until the following night. That is when they returned to the village, in the dead of night, seizing the man and nailing him to a stake as, one by one, he is forced to stand and watch as the white visitors take it in turn rounding up the villagers. Beheading them in front of him, offering them as a sacrifice to their god, retribution, as the man screams for mercy. When the job was done, they finally set fire to the stake, burning the miracle worker alive, asking him only one thing as he screamed in agony."
"What?" Nica asked immediately. "What did they ask him?"
Jeffrey turned to Nica, tears in his eyes as he finished the story.
"His name." Jeffrey whispered, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "And as he burned alive, the flesh melting, dripping from his body, he screamed in a thousand voices 'DAMBALLA'!"
"That's terrible." Nica gasped.
"Some villagers returned the next day. The village was destroyed, nothing left, just charred remains of their friends and family, their homes destroyed, life as they knew it changing forever. The man known as Damballa remained nailed to the stake, his charred body buried beneath a layer of ash, his face twisted in anger and agony. Then, as if by sheer coincidence, one of the children found the man's book, in amongst the burned down debris of his hut, but completely untouched, not a single scratch. Inside the book, they found instructions, how to worship, how to ask for help, but more importantly how to help themselves."
"And is this book still around today?" Nica asked as Jeffrey slipped the car into gear and pulled back into the heaving traffic of the freeway.
"Indeed it is Miss Pirce." Jeffrey replied, smiling again. "It is still around, as the latest generation of Damballa's worshippers join to pay their respects. You see everybody in our circle are descendants of the villagers that escaped the barbarian acts of that fateful night. Now we keep the secrets, traditions, all kept within an immediate circle of most trusted followers."
"Except one." Nica added.
"Yes," Jeffrey replied. "This Charles Lee Ray episode needs to be brought to an end."
With that, Jeffrey started the engine back up, quickly joining the rest of the traffic. The rest of the ride was silent as Jeffrey focused on the roads, Nica taking time to digest everything that had been disclosed to her. She found once again that she had gone from a position of knowing absolutely nothing, having no leads, no new opportunities, nothing whatsoever, to suddenly finding herself in a position where she wondered, did she perhaps know too much. It was only as the car pulled into a car park behind a huge office building, that Nica found herself wondering what Jeffrey's thoughts were regarding John Bishop. How he had betrayed his brothers and sisters of Damballa by teaching the secrets to an outsider. And not just any outsider. As they left the car and approached the huge, glass double doors of the office building, Nica found herself automatically asking Jeffrey that very question.
"What about John Bishop?" She asked.
"What about him?" Jeffrey answered as he fiddled with the lock on the door, a huge ring of keys fluidly produced from his pocket.
"What did people think when they found out? You know... That he'd taught these secrets to an outsider." She continued.
"John Bishop would, by no means, profess to be a perfect man Miss Pirce. Everybody makes mistakes in life." Jeffrey's reply was soft and natural.
"Do you ever think things would be easier..." She paused, Jeffrey turned his eyes to her as the lock clicked in the door. "... If he were here? You know. Able to help?"
Jeffrey laughed as he opened the glass door and waved, beckoning Nica to make her way through which she did. As she rolled past Jeffrey and into the pitch black interior of the building Jeffrey spoke once more as he finished laughing.
"Miss Pirce." He said.
"After all you have seen and heard. Do you really believe John Bishop to be dead?"