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Death in the Mind's Eye

By Rick Acker

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Prologue
March
Death is a woman.
She spoke to Seth Bell from the dark, glittering waters of the San Francisco Bay as the ferry chugged toward Alameda. Her voice was deep, throaty, seductive. She wanted him. If he would only climb over the rail and jump, she would let him inside. She would take him down to her black secret places and hold him forever.
“Shut up!” He pushed himself away from the rail and staggered toward a bench. “Get away from me!”
Other passengers edged away, watching him surreptitiously. Let them watch. They were always watching, always plotting.
He pulled a flask of vodka from inside his leather coat and took a swig. The familiar heat in his throat comforted him. He hadn’t eaten anything that day, so the alcohol hit his bloodstream a few minutes later, relaxing his tight-strung nerves. The voice of Death faded to an insistent whisper in the back of his mind.
The monthly trust-fund deposit had landed in his account last night, so he had plenty of cash. He’d blown some of it right away on a truly epic bar crawl. He also apparently had bought a new tattoo—a woman’s eye on the back of his right hand, crying a single blood-red tear. He thought he recognized the eye but couldn’t quite place it.
Some indistinct time later, he woke up on a BART train. He didn’t remember getting off of the ferry or onto the train, and he had no idea where he was headed. But that was okay. Most BART lines ran through San Francisco, so he could stay on the train and it would eventually take him back to the city. He hitched himself up on the blue vinyl seat and looked out the window. Late-afternoon sun slanted across the rolling green hills outside, casting sharp shadows that made the darkened hillsides look like cliffs. Shadow Cliffs.
Now he knew where he was going. “You put me on the train, didn’t you?”
She agreed, her voice light and musical now. He hadn’t heard that voice in a long time, but he remembered it well.
He laughed, harsh and loud.
A homeless guy sleeping in the seat across from him stirred and muttered something. Seth ignored him. “It’s been a long time, girl. Okay, Shadow Cliffs it is. I haven’t been out there in years.”
He spent the rest of the train ride drinking and wandering among old memories. He used to enjoy thinking about Shadow Cliffs and his time there with Maddie. Most of it, anyway. The end had always unnerved him. But reliving the rest of it had been an exciting, illicit pleasure. Maddie had been one of his favorites in the secret library of memories he kept locked away in the dark places of his soul.
He rubbed his hand across his face and a twinge of pain reminded him of his new tattoo. He held his hand up for a better look. The eye stared at him, accusing and seductive at the same time. The red of the tear mingled with fresh little droplets of his own blood, glittering like tiny rubies in the shaky sunlight from the train window. He recognized the eye now. It was Maddie’s.
Maybe going out to Shadow Cliffs would bring back some of the old savor. He comforted himself with that thought and with more vodka.
The train reached the end of the line. A maintenance worker rousted Seth from a troubled slumber, and he staggered off the train and out of the station.
He collapsed into a cab and mumbled “Shadow Cliffs” to the driver.
The driver glanced into the backseat uncertainly. “It’ll be closed by now.”
Seth shoved money at the cabbie. “Just drop me at the gate!”
Fifteen minutes later, the taxi arrived at the deserted park. Seth stumbled out of the cab and down the dark path. He knew where he needed to go, and it was suddenly urgent that he get there.
He staggered along the empty paths, now gray and lonely in the deepening gloom. They were different in his memory—ribbons of fresh gravel bordered by bright green under a dome of clear-blue sky. He hadn’t been lonely then either. Maddie had been there, burbling happily about what a blast they would have. He’d smiled, knowing that he would have more of a blast than she would ever realize.
They had left the path and gone up to an isolated hilltop crowned with a thicket of brush and small trees. In the middle of the thicket lay a tiny meadow, filled with wildflowers at that time of year. She had wanted to take pictures of the flowers for a photography contest, and he’d offered to bring a picnic lunch and help carry her equipment. They took pictures all morning, Seth’s anticipation rising deliciously the whole time. When lunchtime came, he surprised her by pulling a bottle of wine (stolen from his parents’ kitchen) out of the picnic basket. He slipped a roofie into her second glass, and she was out cold fifteen minutes later.
Then the real fun began.
When it ended, he realized she wasn’t breathing. Maddie would never wake up again.
He sighed and took another swig from his bottle, trying to conjure up the old happy memories of walking there with Maddie.
“I’ve missed you,” said a voice at his side. Her voice.
He spun, nearly falling. His vision doubled and the world whirled. When his eyes cleared, he saw only darkness.
“Maddie?” he called, staggering in a full circle on the path. “Are you here?”
“Come to me. I want you.” Her voice came from the shadows off the path, sweet and flirtatious.
He stumbled after the sound. “Maddie?”
He reached a gate and stopped, uncertain. Thick, tangled weeds and mounds of gravel lay beyond it. It looked abandoned and foreboding.
A ripple of unease swept across him. He had known Shadow Cliffs well as a child, but his memory had faded over the years. His conscious mind did not remember this spot, but he had a vague sense that it was dangerous and that he shouldn’t go any farther.
He listened to the darkness. Silence, broken only by the chittering of a bat. Then a soft breeze blew on his face, carrying a snatch of distant laughter. Her laughter.
“Wait! I’m coming!” he called.
He struggled over the gate. It wasn’t high, but alcohol and urgency made him clumsy. He fell heavily on the other side. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs and he lay there for a moment, gasping.
The laugh came again, even fainter. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered on.
“Seth,” she called, barely audible. He broke into a run. Weeds and uneven ground tripped him. Brambles scratched his hands and face.
Then he stopped suddenly and nearly fell. He stood at the edge of a steep, rocky slope. Black water spread below, glinting in the moonlight. A cold breeze blew over him, chilling his sweaty face.
He stared down. Deep below the surface, Maddie’s face stared back, unblinking and luminescent.
“Come here,” her voice whispered, but her lips did not move.
The lake was an old gravel pit. The bottom was forty feet down, even right by shore. Seth couldn’t swim and the water would be icy at this time of year. But Maddie was calling to him.
He stood on the bluff, looking down and trembling. Bitter black water lay below him, but maybe he could fly.
“Come to me,” she said in the voice of many women. The voice of Death.
He went. Without making a conscious decision, he jumped. He flew for two long seconds, sailing several yards from shore. The rational fragment of his mind was still trying to comprehend what he had done when he hit the water.
It was very cold.

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