"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.
Chapter Nine
"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.
Chapter Ten
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.
Bu
ffliro 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.
Finding the e-mail address was easy, too. How to compose this e-mail was an issue though. It wasn't as if what he wanted to know was normal. Even though he had the suspicion she knew what would happen when the poem was read aloud, it didn't mean it was true.
So the question of if he should even send the e-mail came up in his mind many times. And no matter how many times he reworded the e-mail, it still sounded strange.
He realized that no matter how he wrote it, the whole story was going to sound like the ravings of someone who was not one hundred percent there.
What would be the harm in just deleting the text and forgetting this whole silly idea?
For all he knew, she couldn't help him even if she knew about the effects of her poem. It was the possibility of knowledge, though, that kept him from abandoning the whole thing.
Knowledge that could help Bruce, and possibly Meg as well.
As awkward as it was, he had to take this chance.
He hit the send button. Dread formed in the pit of his stomach seconds later.
What if she thought he was insane? That, itself, would be bad enough. It was worse than not getting the answers he was seeking.
But nothing could be taken back now that he had sent it.
~ ~ ~ ~
Read the next book by Lily Taffel:
If you like this book, you will also like Invisible Foe...
He sees him...and later on, so does she
IMAGINATION BEGETS CREATION
Foster parent Meg Suther’s new foster child Tony has an odd quirk. He talks to an imaginary friend. However it turns out the friend is not anything close to pretend. Bruce exists. Bruce is a friend to Tony and is the father figure Tony wishes he had.
Meg finds this out very soon when she reads from a book she finds in the bottom of Tony's bags. The book contains a rhyme to summon an imaginary friend. Something about the rhyme catches Meg’s attention.
She reads aloud from the book and finds herself able to see Bruce. After a misunderstanding and almost harming Bruce with whatever she has on hand, Tony explains about Bruce.
Tony created Bruce when he had found the book in a library and the rhyme caught his own attention. For years Bruce served as support and a beacon of hope for Tony during his years under his abusive fathers care.
Meg takes this all rather well and after a talk over some tea a little more is explained. Not seeing a reason why he shouldn't, Meg allows Bruce to stay.
Tony sees a possible romance between Meg and Bruce and plots to set them up together.
Unravel more of this fascinating book, continue reading Invisible Foe...
~ ~ ~ ~
Related Books
Did you enjoy this book? I recommend reading these related books, available on various retailers:
Ravaged
Here In The Dark
Who's There?
Dangerous Liaisons
Bonus:
Invisible Foe
Chapter One
ONCE DONE CRUISING the grocery store aisles, Meg and Bruce made their way to the checkout counter with a cart full of groceries.
It was a short walk, given the size of the store. Shop Box was by far the largest store in town. Bulk and low prices were its claim to fame, along with the store’s incredibly simple-looking, half-witted mascot.
It was a box of all things. A brown, cardboard box with eyes and a mouth. Its mouth was a perpetual doltish smile. Meg recalled that its name began with a “B.” She was reasonably sure there was probably a box pun involved.
Whatever the name, it was still a very unimaginative mascot in her opinion.
Bruce had his own thoughts about the grinning caricature. Every time he looked at the pictures of the mascot strewn all around the store, he would frown as if it offended him somehow.
Meg used this time to eliminate some of the junk food from her cart by placing a few cellophane-wrapped packages onto random shelves. She was still convinced double-dipped chocolate-sauce-covered cookies were a one-way ticket to Heartattackville, offered to all unsuspecting patrons in a neatly-packaged bulk box.
It was certainly worth it to get the cauliflower into the cart.
“Are you sure we can’t get that huge bag of marshmallows back there?” Bruce asked as he looked longingly over his shoulder back at the treats.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Meg said firmly. “We have enough junk. I don’t know if it’s possible for you to get sick from all of it, but the last thing I want to do is give Tony diabetes.”
“Fair point,” Bruce relented despite the pout on his face.
Meg couldn’t help but notice that wasn’t the only time she had witnessed a childish response from Bruce. Despite his occasional lapses into immaturity, he’d never behaved in a completely irritating manner. If anything, Meg found it simultaneously charming and goofy in an odd way.
That perplexed Meg. All her life she had connected with mature people on an intimate level. Their patient but no-nonsense worldviews resonated deeply within her, as if they shared an unspoken bond of sincerity, purpose, and inner motivation to make the most of what life had to offer. Her job could be incredibly challenging and left precious little time for frivolity. Daily goals were set and frequently achieved due to her relentless drive and single-minded focus.
So immaturity in adults was not her favorite personality trait.
Yet Bruce somehow made it appealing.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Meg said as she tried to think of another subject. “Just how do you eat? It seems you have no problem with that, yet there are things you can’t do that make no sense. Like the fact that you can’t actually touch anyone. No offense, but that seems weird to me.”
Bruce paused for a moment, contemplating.
“You know, Meg... in all honesty, I’m not sure exactly why that is. All that stuff is odd, I do agree. But it’s like I told you before--I’ve been like this since I can remember, and somehow I’ve never really let it interfere with how I live my life,” Bruce answered after several seconds. “Believe me, I’ve tried to come up with theories on how I’m able to work and still manage to deal with my... idiosyncrasies. But I really don’t have an answer--for myself, for you, for anyone. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s the same reason people can actually affect me when they see me. Like, that time you punched me in the gut. No one else besides Tony could do that. Also, don’t ever do that again please. It really hurt.”
“Don’t give me a reason to and I won’t,” Meg teased.
She playfully punched Bruce on the shoulder and Bruce dramatically flinched, just as a mother and her two young children turned the corner and
into the aisle, directly facing them. A puzzled look was etched on the mother’s face as she scrutinized the two individuals before her, wondering what it was that had the young woman in stitches.
Meg made a point of not meeting the mother’s eyes and hurried in the direction of the checkout line. At that point, she assiduously ignored any further chatter from Bruce. She had made up her mind not to risk being seen as crazy any more.
But fate decided to not make that feat easy.
The cashier at checkout number nine, a man in his twenties, was wearing a blinding lime-green shirt. Bruce feigned pain at the sight and put a hand up to his eyes. The grimace on his face looked real.
“My eyes!” he shouted dramatically.
Despite her inner resolve, a smile danced across Meg’s as Bruce continued with his over-the-top expressions at the cashier’s expense.
The cashier, oblivious at being the target of Bruce’s mockery, appraised Meg with genuine puzzlement. “Are you okay, miss?” For reasons Meg couldn’t imagine, the man was actually proud of his outfit.
“Me? I’m sorry, I’m fine, really. I, um, just couldn’t help but notice how... colorful your outfit is. It’s... um... a good look for you,” Meg lied.
“Oh, it’s a good look, all right. If the goal was to burn out people’s eyes,” Bruce uttered under his breath.
Megan snorted uncontrollably, an action that earned a look of rapprochement from the cashier.
“I... uh... just remembered a funny joke,” Meg explained, unconvincingly.
The cashier’s eyes were suddenly icy and Meg suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “I’m sure it was hilarious.” He returned her change with a robotic gesture, his face never cracking a smile.
Megan accepted the coins, forcing her face to keep grinning. “Well, thank you very much for your time.”
The cashier snorted and looked past her to the older gentlemen standing in line behind her. “Whatever. Did you find everything you needed, sir?”
Her ears positively burning, she hurriedly pocketed the change, gripped her shopping cart and headed out of the store.
“Smooth, lady. Reeeeeeal smooth,” Bruce spoke up nonchalantly once they were in the now-deserted parking lot.
“Shut up. You’re the one who made me laugh,” Meg hissed in a whisper.