Trifecta (93 page)

When the car exploded, the hot blast of air threw him a
few feet up in the air and he thumped down hard in the middle of oncoming traffic. 
A bus almost ran over him, and barely avoided colliding with another vehicle.  By
that time he was unconscious.

He could not see the car blazing as though it had been
torched. 

Blood was running out of his ear and he was trying to control
extreme nausea when Tom Mitsuto finally decided to investigate why Nakamura had
not reached his home and drove toward Waikiki.  He found Nakamura, trying to stagger
to a standing position, groggy and disoriented on the side of the road. 

M
ichelle jumped up and down at the gate where Heather's
parents were supposed to arrive, looking over the heads of the crowd for the two
smallest adults.  She finally spotted them and hurried over.  Small stature and
big hearts, they came every six months like clockwork to visit their daughter. 
Michelle felt like a huge clumsy elephant when she was with all three of them.

She drove Heather's parents to the hospital and waited
for them in the hallway while they visited Heather.  When they came out and started
talking to a doctor she slowly went into the room herself, afraid of what she would
see.

"Shelly.  Sit down.  We need to talk," Heather
said with her old enthusiasm.

Michelle smiled in surprise.  Heather was hooked up to
some monitoring machines and attached to a plastic bag which dripped fluids into
her arm, but she looked amazingly healthy.  Heather was still under the influence
of pain medication for the burn and broken ribs, but her prognosis was very good,
from what the doctor had said. 

"You're looking great," Michelle said.

"Can't wait to get out of here.  I feel a little woozy,
you know?  Because of the morphine, or some wonderful stuff that makes you euphoric
and sleepy.  But I've been dying to know what you were talking about with Omar last
night.  Before I got hit with the lightening."

Michelle told her everything.  How she believed that Omar
had caused the bolt to zip from the sky and hit her.  What she had remembered about
her own attack in Las Vegas.  The fact that she thought Omar really might have some
weird supernatural powers. 

"Hey.  Cut to the important stuff," Heather said
with frustration.  "You stayed with Rod last night?"

"I had my own room."

"Oh."  She sounded disappointed.

Michelle looked at Heather.  The short affair was over
and done with.  Heather was her best friend.  She could tell.  "He broke my
heart."  Michelle had to explain about that, too.

Heather was quiet for a long time.  "You're not giving
him enough credit, Shelly.  I may be wrong, but I think you should go back there
tonight.  This is too important to let pride get in the way.  Besides, he'll be
waiting for you.  And you promised.  At the very least, you'd miss a fine...you
know."

"You're usually right," Michelle said dismally. 
"But I really threw myself at him.  He hardly had a chance."

"Even if you behaved like a brazen hussy, I think
he could fend you off.  If he wanted to," Heather said.  "He's a big boy." 
She had that frowning serious intent look that meant she was really laughing.  She
was so thrilled about the whole situation  Michelle had to smile too.

"What's he like in bed?"

"Heather!"

A nurse came in a little while later and told them visiting
hours were over.  Michelle had to leave. 

She took Heather's parents to the hotel closest to the
hospital and had an early dinner with them when they insisted.  They looked so
forlorn she couldn't refuse.  They were worried about Heather's finances.  She
might not be able to do any modeling for a while.  Michelle tried to explain to
them that Heather had bought into several properties here in Hawaii, that she
could live easily on that income, but they were still upset.  Michelle promised
to call them in California if she thought Heather would need any help in the
future.

Michelle took a deep breath when she finally got to her
car.  Heather's parents were so sweet and worried it was almost claustrophobic. 
She had to go home.  There was no way around it.  She couldn't live forever in one
sundress, or in fear of being inside her own apartment.  She needed to change and
she had to prepare for work tomorrow.  Although this situation was very strange,
she wasn't in some fantasy world where she could put her job on indefinite hold
to track down a sorcerer.  Deciding about whether to go to the hotel tonight to
see Nakamura would just upset her.  She decided to put off deciding for a while.

Both Heather and Nakamura had warned her not to go back
to the apartment building, but no one else could take care of the problem.  She
wasn't going to let anyone else get hurt or killed.  Omar might be able to perceive
her feelings for Nakamura and try to harm him next. 

As Michelle drove home she thought her chances of coming
out of this predicament intact were definitely slight.  How could she deflect Omar's
power if he could throw lightening bolts?  She thought it would be smart to agree
to be Omar's high priestess.  Then maybe she could amass enough information to eventually
stop him, or get him arrested.

She parked in the temporary lot in back of her condominium
instead of going into the underground parking garage.  She didn't want to be ambushed,
and she wasn't going to take stupid chances in an isolated and dark lot underground. 
She might have to leave quickly.

Michelle took the stairs to her apartment.  It was an
exhausting seventeen floors, but she didn't want to get stuck in an elevator
with one of the witches, or Omar himself, either.  He knew she was a danger to
him now and might decide to simply get rid of her.  He had killed before.  Or
probably had his minion, Samson, do it.  Now there was a scary guy, too. 

The guard was still in the hallway.  She didn't mind that
at all, even when he obviously watched her with lascivious attention as she walked
down the hallway. 

Michelle wasn't even surprised when she found an open vodka
bottle with a glass next to it on her living room table.  This was war.  She took
the bottle, emptied it into the sink and threw the empty in the trash can.  The
fumes burned her eyes and it smelled like gasoline.  It didn't tempt her at all. 
She wondered how she had ever sat, night after night, drinking it straight out of
the bottle while she watched television.  Afraid to go to sleep without the sedative
effect.  Afraid of the terrible nightmares.

A sudden loud, supernatural yowling sent shivers down her
spine and she bolted for the door.  She stopped abruptly with the door open, finally
recalling the noise, feeling silly at her nervousness.  Lucifer was here somewhere. 
She tracked the unhappy screeches and found him under the bed.  Michelle crawled
underneath and got him, almost afraid he would scratch out her eyes, but he was
behaving like a normal cat; too coy and dignified to be thrilled to see her.  He
had a collar on with a note wrapped around it.  She unfolded the scrap of paper. 
"You ruined my cat.  He's yours, Omar."

Well good, Michelle thought, I hope Lucifer is ruined. 
But it could be a ruse.  Lucifer might very well turn on her, if that was what Omar
intended.

She was really thrilled to have Lucifer and she hugged
and petted him.  The screeches meant he was hungry.  It would be a good test.  If
he refused normal cat food she would have to distrust him.  She poured a bowl of
kibble and opened a can of Tender Morsels.  He screamed.  When she put the bowls
down he made a great show of being finicky, tail switching and sniffing daintily
for a long time, but he finally ate the food without prompting.  He didn't bat dishes
across the kitchen or wail indignantly.  Lucifer was a normal cat and he was all
hers.  It was a small victory.

She picked him up and petted him for a while.  He might
still have some of his strange abilities.  "Lucifer, you're mine now, and if
someone tries to hurt me I want you to attack.  Do you understand?  You are to attack
anyone who tries to harm me."  The cat stared at her with owlish blue eyes,
unblinking.  He patted her face with a paw.  She felt like a fool and put him on
the floor.

Michelle went out into the hallway.  She asked the guard
if anyone had entered her apartment in the last twenty-four hours. 

"Not on my shift."  He was leafing through notes
on a tablet.  "Says here, Julio let your friend in because she had your cat
and wanted to return it."

"When was that?"

"This morning.  9:00 a.m."

"Do you have the note?"

"No.  Says here you signed it, too.  Evidently Julio
thought it was okay.  He had a regular guard open the door.  They have the keys."

"You aren't a regular guard?"

"No."

When she tried to get information about who hired the special
security he said he couldn't give out that information.  It was a private party. 
He didn't know the name of the women who had returned her cat.

Michelle went back to her apartment.  Nothing magical about
how they had entered.  Just a little forgery.  It was probably Ginger or Suzanne. 
She started investigating all the closets and cabinets, places where traps could
be set or something lethal could be hidden.  Some of her possessions had been slightly
moved, she could tell, but she couldn't find anything harmful.  As a precaution
she threw away every opened container in her refrigerator.  Poured the last of her
milk down the drain.  Lucifer followed her like a shadow, sometimes tripping her
as she looked around.

When she went into her bedroom something flew directly
at her face, buzzing horribly.  It was so large she thought it was a bird that somehow
got trapped in her apartment, but it was an enormous flying insect.  She panicked
and ran.  It was following her as she bolted into the living room, making horrible
whirring noises.  It looked like some sort of black hornet with a long segmented
body and a tail with a visible stinger.  It buzzed around her head and she tried
to swat it away.  It was making dive bombing attacks directly in her face.  It landed
on her ear and she heard the buzzing close up.  She could hear a whimpering sound
too as she batted at it, then realized it was the sound of her own voice.

Lucifer went absolutely ballistic.  She couldn't believe
how fast he moved, streaking around the room and screeching, obviously having the
thrill of his life with a new animated toy.  Lucifer caught the big bug in a flying
leap off the living room couch.  Michelle had to leave the room when he began audibly
crunching on the grisly thing.  She hoped it wasn't poisonous.

Michelle was laying out her clothes for work, trying to
plan the safest way to confront Omar.  Should she simply go to his apartment or
call first?  Then the phone rang. 

V
incent Middleton, fortified by several aspirin
laced with codeine, stood across the street from the building where Omar Satinov
lived.  He gazed up at the top floor, the penthouse suite that Suzanne had described
to him.  He had that prickly paranoid feeling he was being watched.  He also felt
dizzy and sick.  Hangovers are a bitch.

Vincent took a deep breath and wished Omar really was the
mythical Vampire of legend, and he, The Intrepid Vampire Hunter his students had
christened him at the university.  In that case he would be girded with a cross,
holy water and draped with a garland of garlic cloves.  He was utterly bewildered
by a man he suspected might be an actual sorcerer. 

As he watched from across the street, he saw a tall brunette
woman hurry around the corner of the building and go inside.  He started hastily
forward, each step jolting pain through his head, because he recognized her from
somewhere.  He frowned and tried to concentrate.  His head was on fire in the benighted
tropical heat.  Was she one of the witches he had seen in the circle?  Or maybe
one of the women from the occult store.

A security guard at the doorway barred the entrance, which
was understandable with the murder that had occurred here.  He would have to think
of a way to enter the building without Omar's knowledge.  He wanted to surprise
Omar so he wouldn't have a chance to prepare a nasty surprise.  Suzanne might be
there and he wanted to induce her to leave without too much trouble.

Vincent ambled over and told the guard he was waiting for
a friend.  He glanced into the lobby, ostensibly searching for the fictional friend. 
The dark haired woman was heading to the mailboxes on the left side of the lobby. 
She extracted a few envelopes and magazines.  Then she crossed to a side door off
the lobby.  When she opened the door he could see it led to a stairwell up into
the building.  She kept looking around, as though wary, and he got a good glimpse
of her face as she checked behind her before the door closed.  Then he remembered. 
She was the woman who had confronted Omar in the witch's circle last night.

He wondered if she was going up to see Omar, but she appeared
frightened and he did not believe so.  He couldn't imagine her climbing up twenty
floors.  She might actually live here.  If so, he would like to talk to her.  Find
out what she knew.

Vincent paced and pointedly looked at his watch every few
minutes.  Finally, he told the guard that he wanted to use the public phone in the
lobby, find out what was holding up his friend.  The guard examined him up and down. 
Apparently he decided Vincent didn't look like a psychotic rapist/killer and let
him in.  The guard said he could wait in the lobby, that he looked a little off,
maybe heat-sickness if he wasn't used to the weather in Hawaii.  Vincent truthfully
admitted to a blinding headache.

Vincent walked past the mailboxes.  The dark girl's box
was the fourth from the end, next to the bottom row.  He surreptitiously glanced
at it.  Michelle Montgomery, 1707. 

Even as he looked up Michelle's number in the directory
on a stand by the telephones, he knew he was putting off the direct confrontation
with Omar Satinov.  But he was a little guy.  Omar probably had the giant with him,
too.  This was not something he was looking forward to.  The phone rang three times.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Montgomery?" Vincent asked.

"Yes."  The voice was deep and low for a woman,
Vincent thought.  Someone with firm control.  She must be terrified.

"My name is Vincent Middleton.  I'm a professor at
Stanford University, in the psychology department.  My specialty is the study of
the paranormal.  Witches in particular.  I'm visiting Hawaii because there's a man
here I've been investigating.  I think you know him.  Omar Satinov."

"Oh.  Yes."

"I saw you last night at a ritual that Mr. Satinov
was conducting.  I was hoping to speak to you for a few minutes.  I got the impression
you were not one of his followers."

"No, I'm not.  Where are you?"

"The lobby of your building.  I came to see Mr. Satinov,
and then I saw you..."

"I'll come down and get you."

"Thank you."

Vincent sat down on a sofa and looked around.  The place
was beautifully furnished and obviously catered to wealthy inhabitants.  One side
of the lobby was ornately mirrored and he caught a glimpse of Michelle's reflection
after a few minutes, peeking out the door to the stairwell, before she stepped into
the lobby itself.

Vincent was a little surprised by her height, but Omar
was very tall and she had been next to him in the circle last night.  She topped
Vincent by almost a foot.  He stood up and shook her hand, repeating his name. 
She gazed at him seriously, with very unusual yellow eyes.  He could see why a warlock
would be attracted to her.

Vincent had the impression that she was still nervous,
not of him necessarily, but of being here in the open, in this particular building.

"I remember you," Michelle said.  "I didn't
see your face last night.  Uh...you kind of keeled over."

"That's kindly put," Vincent said, smiling a
bit ruefully.  "I'm still feeling the effects of something that was given to
me in a drink, by the red haired witch."

Michelle nodded, "Ginger.  Why don't you come up and
have a coke.  I've found it the best quick hangover remedy."  She was walking
to the elevator with a little smile.  "Tomato juice is good too, but I threw
it all away.  I have some potent B-complex vitamins, if you're really feeling awful." 

"The police put me in the hospital for acute alcohol
poisoning," Vincent said as the elevator rose.  "But I believe there was
something else in the drink.  I declined to join the...festivities last night. 
Whatever the drink was, it totally paralyzed me for a time."

They had reached Michelle's apartment.  She looked at him
very directly.  "I believe you.  Now, you'll have to be careful of Lucifer. 
He used to be Omar's cat and he has a habit of attacking people."  She opened
the door.

Either Lucifer really was a normal cat or he found the
small pudgy man inoffensive.  He did not attack.  He very studiously ignored.  Vincent
could tell Michelle was watching the cat warily as she took him into the kitchen.

"Don't drink it too fast," Michelle warned as
she handed Vincent a large iced coke, "or it'll make the headache worse." 
She reached into a cabinet and took several bottles down, peering at the labels. 
She gave him three vitamins.  One was as large as a small egg, but he managed to
choke it down.

"I'm an alcoholic, but I wasn't entirely stupid." 
She was smiling, as though telling him that was funny.  "I took good care of
myself otherwise."

"How did it happen?" Vincent asked, surprised
and really curious.  She appeared intelligent, not the type to go off the deep end
of addiction.

"It's part of the story that involves Omar,"
Michelle said, leading him into the living room.  "He triggered it.  You see,
he had Samson Stoker rape me several years ago.  But I didn't know it."

They sat down on the couch, and with Vincent's urging,
Michelle told him the whole story, ending with last night when she had finally remembered
what happened to her in Las Vegas.

"You realize that Omar is a very powerful and dangerous
man?" Vincent asked.

"I understand his covens are spread around the world,"
Michelle said.

"Yes.  He may want to consolidate his power with someone
he feels has managerial skills, as well as a type of attractiveness that he covets
in his witches.  Also, his reputation is rather blighted.  There are rumors of death
and mutilation that follow him, which are starting to repel potential disciples. 
He's just starting out here in Hawaii and he usually leaves someone behind to carry
on his work when he goes on to another location.  That person personally sells his
herbal potions and conducts the witch ceremonies.  Omar is one of the best kept
secrets in a religion filled with secrets."

"So you think when he said he wanted me for his ultimate
Priestess, that he wants me to carry on his work here?"

"No.  I think he'll want Suzanne for that." 
Vincent related his story and told her what had happened to Suzanne.

It was almost dark now and Michelle got up and turned on
several lights, more for comfort than necessary illumination.  What had happened
to Suzanne was horrifying.  And Suzanne couldn't remember it consciously either. 
She evidently still thought that Omar was a brilliant and handsome witch; not a
psychotic killer/rapist/drug dealer.

Michelle sat down again.  "I still don't understand
what he wants."

"Omar has consolidated the dark powers.  He uses what's
called black magic, but the other side is closed to him.  I really can't label him. 
He could be termed a Satanist because he's reputed to conjure up devils from...hell,
even I don't believe that.  But unlike Satanists, he doesn't hold black masses or
sacrifice animals.  He could be called a sorcerer.  Or a warlock.  A wizard.  He
personally calls himself a Necromancer.  Many believe that he actually does conjure
up evil dead spirits.  Or he could be called a Black Witch.  He's known by some
as the Black Overlord.  He has studied extensively in several different countries,
taking a little from the witches, the Satanists and from those who know how to use
deadly poisons and many different drugs.  And of course, he has his own lethal minion
in Samson Stoker."

Michelle nodded and shivered. 

"In you, I think he found a total opposite.  First
of course, you're obviously the opposite sex.  But more than that, I suspect you
have qualities absent in him."

"He said that once.  Yin and Yang.  True opposites. 
It was his explanation for the shocks I got whenever he touched me."

"Really?"  Vincent looked at her with interest. 
"Suzanne didn't say anything like that, but I don't know if he ever did touch
her.  Your description sounds like the opposing forces of magnets, repelling each
other violently."

"Actually, I was attracted to him.  Very powerfully,"
Michelle said smiling.

"He is a magnificent looking specimen," Vincent
said smiling too.  "It's one of his advantages, and he uses it to the hilt
to lure women into his religion.  First, they're mesmerized by his dashing looks. 
Then he hooks them on drugs until they become his personal slaves.  Actually, from
what I've managed to learn, he's in his sixties."

"You're kidding!"

Vincent shook his head.  "Magic my dear."

"I thought maybe thirty-five.  Even forty."

"No.  He's had plastic surgery more than once.  But
something must have made you fearful of him?"

"I looked into his eyes, when I was close to him. 
I felt repulsed.  I thought I saw swarms of insects.  Or snakes, writhing in the
depths."

Vincent nodded.  "Can you give me a little of your
history?"

Michelle recited a quick version of her life story.  She
thought he would find it dull.

Vincent was nodding again.  "You had a happy childhood. 
Made friends easily.  Enjoyed life, for the most part.  From what little I have
learned about Omar, his history is about as opposite to yours as one could find. 
He was an unwanted child after his mother died, when he was still quite young. 
I suspect he had no friends and that he killed his own father to possess his vast
fortune."

Michelle was frowning, "That's sad.  And scary."

"You have compassion.  Something totally lacking in
Omar, except for those objects he considers worthwhile possessions.  Even people,
like the giant, are possessions to him.  His insects and animals are possessions
too."

"He seemed courteous and kind," Michelle said. 
"At first."

"He's a game player, and may even seem fun at times,
but it's all an act.  He's totally lacking in some fundamental human attributes
of feeling.  Like a killer sociopath.  Or the more dangerous psychopath.  His obsessions
are power and wealth.  And he truly believes in his magic."

"But when you get right down to it, I still don't
understand what he wants.  I'm not unique in any way."

Vincent smiled.  He wanted to break it to her gently and
knew she probably wouldn't believe him.  "I think you told me yourself.  You
were attracted to him physically, but your subconscious mind, or body wisdom, knew
the truth better than you could understand intellectually.  You felt, and even saw,
sparks fly when he touched you.  I don't believe in witches or black magic, but
there is documented truth in the scientific study of the paranormal, which is simply
physical phenomena we don't understand yet.  I believe you possess psychic powers
of your own.  Omar knows this too.  He is able to see auras.  Those with powerful
psychic abilities project auras which are unmistakable.  He suspects your abilities
are strong enough that he wants to own them.  He can only do so by possessing you,
emotionally and physically."

Michelle smiled at the odd notion that she might have some
supernatural powers.  "I have a hard time believing this."

"He needs someone who is kind and compassionate to
rule with him.  Not that the person would have any real power.  She would just appear
to.  That's why he set the giant upon you.  To weaken you.  He tried to kill your
best friend to hurt you further.  He put your job in jeopardy, even placed stolen
cash in your office.  Maybe he thought you would go away with him if the police
were after you.  He wants you weak and vulnerable.  So you're in a dangerous position. 
Especially now that he knows you know all about him.  He isn't making his attacks
sneaky, any more.  He placed the vodka on your table openly.  He threw a lightning
bolt instead of using an elaborate plan to kill Heather with sleeping pills, masking
as suicide.  He will overtly try to scare you into doing his bidding.  Or he might
try to take your will away with the forced use of drugs."