A Glimpse of the Dark Side: Adult Paranormal Erotic Romance Collection (26 page)

Meg gave a small rueful smile. "Not everyone
wants to date a woman who already has a child. It's even harder for
someone with foster children. So it's harder to find a date than
you might think. Besides, dating isn't my main goal in life at this
moment," Meg explained.

"Oh," Bruce said. "Well, their loss then. And if
they can't handle what's important to you, they're not worth your
time."

"Exactly. And I know that, of course. But it's
nice to hear someone else say it."

"I only say what I think to be true."

It was a little thing for Bruce to say. But Meg
had to admit to herself that Bruce's words actually made her
day.

There was a smile on her face as she made her
way to the cereal aisle.

"WARDEN, THERE'S ANOTHER dead prisoner."

Warden Eli Griffin looked up from his paper work
immediately. It was a concerned look tinged with annoyance. He had
perfected this look since he became warden of this little prison on
Maine. It worked not just on prisoners but on guards and
bureaucrats alike. More often, on the bureaucrats as he was forever
asking for funds to improve the prison. He got mixed results on
that.

People died in prison. Certainly it happened
more than people thought it did. Old age or prison violence was the
cause for the most part.

But the deaths in cell block twelve were
bizarre-five men dead within two weeks. Each of them was found with
the same agonized look on his face.

Whatever had killed them had obviously caused
great pain.

Then there was the odd hue of color to their
skin. It certainly was not a normal coloring at all. Each of the
dead men's faces had a hue of toxic green. It was as if they were
looking into a puddle of toxic waste.

Of course, toxicity checks were done all around
the area. But the results of these tests did not suggest that there
was anything that could cause death on this level.

Even with no proof of any toxic leaks, Eli made
sure to grab a breathing mask before following the guard to the
cell block.

He did not want to take any chances.

STEPPING INTO THE cell block in question was
like stepping into a new world.

Where the rest of the prison had some buzz of
activity, the cell block where the men had died was silent-silent
to the point where people would think they were hearing voices in
the void. Eli would think them insane if he had not heard whispers
himself.

The voices had whispered of darker thoughts and
experiences-memories of childhood laughter overshadowed by the
sound of gunfire, a mental image of the funeral that followed and
the mournful expression on a broken mother's face.

The voices dredged them up somehow.

But as horrible as the memories could be, Eli
was not going to let them keep him from doing his job.

He steeled himself as he approached the cell and
the whispers started. Ignoring them the best he could, he looked
down at the body.

"Same as the others," Eli said with a stony
expression on his face.

It was indeed like the others. James Harrifed,
serving ten-to-twenty for insurance fraud lay dead, his skin the
toxic green pallor and his arm outstretched in rigor mortis. He
hadn't even gotten to serve a year of his sentence.

"We need to figure out what is going on here,"
Eli said finally. "What is doing this and how we can we stop
this."

"There could be a snake loose in the prison," a
guard suggested.

"If it is a snake, it's one that hasn't been
discovered yet. The lab called this morning. They're still trying
to figure it all out. They do know it's a form of neurotoxin,
possibly something from the mamba family."

"Would that be normal?" the guard asked.

"No. Mambas are native to Africa, not North
America, and certainly not in Maine," Eli said. "So you see where
the problem with that theory lies. Either way, we better start
moving people out of the cell block. We can't put it off any
longer."

IT DID NOT take long to gather up most of the
prisoners in the block. They wanted out of that block just as much
as the guards wanted them out. After all, they had complained of
whispers as well.

"Warden? Warden, I want to talk to you."

Eli looked to the prisoner that spoke-a
rail-thin example of a man. That, and his jittery nature, seemed to
scream drug dealer. Though with all the weirdness around lately,
the jitters could just be anxiety.

"Whatever you have to say, make it quick."

"Have you checked on that Buffliro guy? My cell
is... was, right next to his. And let me tell you, I've heard some
weird shit coming out of there."

"Like what?"

"At first, nothing too weird. He seemed normal
enough for a guy who hit his kid. But around three weeks ago, he
started saying weird shit. Talking to himself at the beginning.
Blaming his kid for him ending up in here, stuff he would like to
do to the cops. Dark stuff but nothing completely out of the
ordinary. But then the whispers started up."

The mention of the whispers caught Eli's
interest. His attention was fully on the prisoner's words now.

"Whispers?" Eli asked.

The man nodded. "Yeah, whispers. I know it
sounds insane. But after that, we all started to hear whispering.
Horrible stuff. More than once I thought of doing anything, and I
mean anything, to stop it. Then Buffliro, he started repeating the
stuff the whispers were saying. He spoke to that embezzler that
used to be in the cell on the other side of him. The next morning
he was dead."

"So you're saying Buffliro had something to do
with the deaths going on?"

Another nod from the man. "I believe that with
every ounce of my being. Maybe he's the cause or the puppet or
something. I don't know and I don't care. My suggestion is put a
bullet in his brain and be done with it."

Eli had no comment on the man's suggested action
plan. Instead he waved the guards on before looking towards the
cell where Buffliro was being held.

It had been oddly silent all this time... eerily
so.

Turning back to the guards, Eli motioned at two
of them.

"Erickson and Rhodes, with me. And keep your
weapons drawn. We're moving Buffliro personally."
Even with as
much as I wish I could legally leave the man in there to rot.
Anyone who goes around hitting kids deserves any ill he gets.
Especially if the kid is his own. But they had to follow the
law.

There was another reasoning as well.

If the tragedy that had happened in the cell
block was to follow after Buffliro after placing him elsewhere away
from his old cell block mates, then there would be more proof to
Eli and to others that Buffliro had something to do with this. It
was not evidence admissible in court, but it would be a start.

With the guards' weapons drawn, the cell door
was unlocked. Funny... Eli didn't remember the cells being this
dark and dingy... or cold. It was as if winter itself was breathing
down his neck.

In the corner of this cold and dark area was
Davis Buffliro-a pale, lump of a man, even before he had arrived at
the prison. Now he was almost pale enough to glow in the dark.

His hair was greasy and limp, as if he had not
bathed in weeks. As far as Eli knew, that was not the truth as,
even though they were scum, he didn't take well with prisoner
abuse. Whatever this was, Eli was sure it wasn't at his hand.

"Davis Buffliro, you're being moved," Eli called
out.

The whispers started up again, louder and more
insistent. Buffliro himself didn't even look up. Instead, he stared
down to the ground, his mouth making movements but no words coming
out.

"Buffliro! Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," Buffliro said, his voice a little
more than a whisper. "Not that it matters to you. You're all just
searching for any excuse to shoot me now. Well, let me give you
that reason. Those men who died? They're dead because of me-me and
the whispering thing."

For just a moment, Eli thought he could see a
dark mass behind Buffliro. Something of all smoke and green slits
for eyes.

But then, in a blink, the darkness was just
darkness.

The man, however, was still a mad man-a
frightening thing but still just a man.

"YOU KNOW THAT admitting to murder, no matter
how fantastical the situation, will give you more time," Eli
asked.

"Not that you mind," Buffliro answered. "But
yes. I am more than aware of that fact. And, at one time, I might
have cared about it. But nothing scares me anymore. Not you and not
the law."

"Mind telling me why that is?" Eli asked.

Buffliro grinned. Or at least Eli thought it was
a grin. There was an air of twistedness to the action that should
have been only for positive emotions. But there was nothing
positive in this room.

"Because of my imaginary friend, of course.
Don't tell me you never had one? No companion for those moments
when you were bored or none of your friends was around? I'm sure
you had a lot of those moments after that horrible incident when
you were seven."

Eli froze for a moment before his eyes narrowed.
"What incident are you talking about?"

"I think you know which one I'm talking about.
But if you really want to draw this out, I'll play your game. How
hard it must have been for you. For everyone involved really.
Losing a friend, and so young, to one violent act. It's why you do
what you do today. To make sure scum like me don't hurt anyone like
that boy you called friend before he was gunned down."

Keeping his temper in check, Eli didn't speak
for a time. In the moment of silence, the dark mass flickered for a
moment and hissed. Only the lightest of echoes of its hiss was
heard. The malice behind it was thick in the air, almost palpable
to choke on.

"I don't like this," Erickson said, leveling his
gun at Buffliro.

Eli almost wanted to go ahead and let Erickson
shoot, save the world from a poison that it did not need. But
morals won again. With his back ramrod-straight and his fists
clenched, he managed to get the words out in a calmer manner than
he felt.

"How do you know about that?" Eli asked.

"Simple. The whispering thing told me. It tells
me a lot of interesting things. Which reminds me..." Buffliro
paused long enough to look up at Erickson, who winced at the man's
gaze. "Do you really think you should be one to be handling a gun?
It's a bit of a temptation for you to pull the trigger, isn't it?
Not that it makes you any different from everyone else in this
room. What concerns me more is that you've lost to your temptations
before. I don't blame you for pulling the trigger. He was a
sicko."

"Shut up!" Erickson hissed.

Frowning, Eli glanced over at Erickson. The
younger man was shaking already. Whether from being unnerved or
angry, Eli wasn't sure. He foresaw a problem either way.

"Maybe you should leave," Eli said.

"Yet, you battle with yourself constantly over
what you did. Conscience gets to the best of us, I guess," Buffliro
continued.

"I said shut up!"

"Erickson, stand down!" Eli ordered.

Erickson ignored the order and kept his gun
aimed at Buffliro, even though that aim was shaky. Buffliro clearly
knew he was in danger but kept his gaze on Erickson and kept
talking.

"So, are you going to pull the trigger now? We
all know you want to."

Whatever self-control Erickson had left was
gone. Ignoring Eli and Rhodes, who now made a move to stop him,
Erickson started to pull the trigger.

Suddenly his grip loosened on the gun and he was
staring in the dark with wide eyes.

"What is that thing?" Eli heard Erickson
whisper.

Eli saw nothing but the dark. Yet, he knew hell
was about to break loose.

And it did.

ERICKSON SCREAMED SUDDENLY, his hands reaching
out to his neck. If not for that action Eli might not have noticed
the pin-prick bites that just appeared in Erickson's neck. Though
small, any man could see the green venom droplets oozing from the
wounds.

"Shit!" Eli heard Rhodes exclaim as Erickson
dropped to the ground and started to convulse.

Only minutes later, Erickson stopped thrashing
and it was clear he was dead. Already, his skin was turning that
odd green tone. There was no time to mourn the man before a gunshot
was heard and Rhodes went down.

Buffliro stood holding the gun Erickson had
dropped only moments ago. And it was now aimed at Eli.

"Nothing personal," Buffliro said. "But I really
need to have a talk with my son. And since he won't come here...
well, you get the idea."

Eli said nothing.

Not even when he thought he glimpsed the
whispering thing just moments before he was shot.

THE CHILDREN'S ROOM in the library was blessedly
silent and empty that afternoon. Tony felt more at ease when
searching the web without prying eyes. Not that anyone would see
what he was looking up as wrong, or even know why he was looking it
up.

From what the librarian had told Tony, there
were not many copies of the book that had brought Bruce into
existence. Only three libraries in the area carried it. Two, if he
kept in mind the fact he had ended up keeping the copy he had
gotten from his library.

Finding contact information for Miss Deborah was
easier than Tony had anticipated. Her website, though appearing to
have been set up during the nineties and not updated much since
then, was informative.

Her picture showed a woman in her fifties with a
large dog sitting next to her. An expression of amusement was on
her face. Even the dog seemed to have a glimmer of something that
suggested a mischievous nature. As if both knew something he
didn't. It seemed right for a writer of a book about imaginary
friends.