As he approached them from behind, splattered with blood, he saw the man force the woman’s legs up and apart with his hips, and then wrap his hands around her neck. He reared up and released a crazed laugh as he choked and savaged the woman.
Armando broke from the safety of the shadows and sprinted up behind the man now arching his back, head up to the sky, sick moans escaping his tensed lips. From behind, he grabbed the man’s hair and brought the knife around, attempting to slit his throat. He met the eyes of the woman as he swung the blade, and she paused her struggles a moment, wide-eyed. The man caught his arm in time and pulled Armando forward over his shoulder. They fell to the side and Armando heard a sharp snap.
The woman howled in pain. “My leg!”
The knife fell to the ground and the man rolled over on top of Armando, still shuddering from his interrupted sadisms. He pressed his elbow into Armando’s throat, the weight of the man choking the life out of him. As Armando’s eyes bulged, his mouth working, struggling for air, he heard the now familiar sound of blade on flesh. The man-in-the-middle released his elbow and rolled off him, the blade sticking out at an ugly angle from his torso. The woman fell back in exhaustion, cursing inaudibly, clutching at her lower leg.
Armando shuffled back as the man struggled with the blade. Unable to muster the courage to pull the knife out, the man-in-the-middle fell to the side and then turned to his back. Sick burbles of inaudible words and curses spewed from his mouth, mixed with blood and alcohol puke.
The Cackling Coyote lay on the ground near the fire, sucking in sharp breaths, the knife jerking back and forth as he tried desperately to draw in air. Armando stood over him now, rage in his eyes, then, without a word stomped, a bare foot on the man’s throat. The man flailed his arms desperately around Armando’s legs. He stepped back to evade them, then again, he stepped forward and stomped. The man writhed wildly, unable to move his head under Armando’s weight. Starving for a breath, his convulsions more desperate, face purpling. Uncoordinated arms smacking Armando’s legs. He stepped back again, then forward for a third stomp. He ground his foot down with all his might, unleashing all his hatred and fear. He snarled at the man as he pressed and pressed. With this effort, Armando felt the man’s throat crush beneath his foot. The man’s eyes widened, mouth gasped open, attempting one last time to suck in air. Armando removed his foot and the head simply rolled to the side.
Armando stumbled back but managed to stand. He paused here, sucking in shallow breaths as he digested what had happened. Suddenly conscious of his nakedness from the waist down, he turned back to the man he had just killed and pulled his pants off his ankles. He paused for a moment, scowling at the flaccid remains of the Cackling Coyote’s manhood.
Armando set his jaw, then pulled the knife from the man’s torso and castrated him. He took the balls and shoved them into the dead man’s mouth, eyes still wide open. He went to the rape tree and found his torn underwear, went back, knelt by the man, and stuffed them into his mouth so the monogram could be seen.
They will know who did this.
Armando looked into the bulged eyes, lids still open. “You wanted to hear the ABCs? Let me try for you. A: Stare into the abyss of the desert from now to eternity. B: It will be your hell. C: Know that I put you there.” Armando spat on the man’s face then, still kneeling, turned a pained look over his shoulder toward the women. One still hung from the tree by her arms, head cruelly turned to one side, eyes wide, hazy now. The woman who stabbed the man had managed to drag herself to a nearby rock and prop herself up, eyes darting, searching the darkness that surrounded them.
Clutching the man’s pants, Armando stood to face the woman with the snarl of violence still distorting his face. She struggled to keep herself propped up, wincing in pain. He stepped toward her and she cowered in fear.
𓂓
Clay sat motionless on his hospital bed with the video paused on the moment just before the Geist merged with him. Jackie and Michael leaned in on his right. Martha stood on the left side of the bed. Everyone seemed to be transfixed.
Adrenaline surged as Clay reflected for a second. An uncomfortable sensation came over him, ignited by the strangeness of a highly personal situation revealed in the company of people he hardly knew, all standing in such close proximity. He shifted his weight and cleared his throat. Since his ex-wife left, he hadn’t stepped out to date, nor had he made many new friends. He suddenly felt claustrophobic. “I’m sorry, but I need to get up.”
Michael and Jackie stepped back. Michael pulled the tray table out of the way and Jackie reached out to help him. “I’m good,” Clay said as he waved her hand away. He went through the process of swinging his legs over and slipping on his sneakers. Grateful again to be dressed, he stood and looked at Michael, who stepped back. “I... I just need a minute, excuse me.” Clay brushed past Michael and walked gingerly through the door, disappearing into the hallway.
“Oh my,” Martha whispered to herself as she looked over towards Jackie, who was glaring at her. Mutual silence reigned between them for a few seconds before Martha looked away.
“I’m sorry, but who are you again?” Jackie questioned.
Michael stepped forward. “She kind of... specializes in this area.”
“What area is that?” Jackie asked with more than a hint of contemptuous doubt.
Michael began to speak but Martha raised her hand. “I’m a medium.”
Jackie’s mouth opened slightly, and she tilted her head forward, about to mockingly repeat the answer, but she didn’t. Instead, she crossed her arms and stepped back a little in thought, never taking her eyes off Martha. After a moment she asked her, “What does that mean exactly?”
Martha met Jackie’s eyes as she spoke. “I can see and talk to die Geiste. You call them spirits or ghosts.”
Jackie stared in disbelief. Before she could say anything more, Michael spoke up. “Look, I’m sorry to surprise you with this, but I saw the video and knew I was out of my depth. I wanted some answers. I did some research and found Martha. After explaining what she believed this to be, I thought Clay should know.”
Jackie tightened her face as she considered his explanation. “Well... okay, that makes sense. But our first thought should be for Clay and making sure we don’t upset him while he recovers. He did suffer a head injury.”
Michael and Martha both nodded.
“There is something else you need to know,” Martha continued. “There is a spirit present in the room right now, and he is upset.”
Clay had returned unannounced and paused, listening at the door. He turned a wry smile and said, “Is it something I’ve done?”
Martha spun, a little surprised, but managed a reply, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Michael and Jackie glanced around, looking for any specters that might be lurking in the shadows.
Clay paused for a second before coming back into the room, moving more normally. “I feel better the more I walk around,” he said to no one in particular as he made his way over to the window and looked out, arms crossed. “Okay, Martha, please explain this to us as best you can.”
“As we were telling Jackie, Michael came to me with the video. Once he realized that I might be able to help explain this to you, he brought me here.”
“Right. So, this is your area. What are we looking at?” Clay asked.
“We are looking at a Geist. More specifically, I believe this to be a Wächtergeist.”
“A what?” Clay asked.
“Wächter is German for guardian but can also imply warrior. Geist, of course, means spirit. But the name suggests that this is an unusually powerful Geist that is either trapped, which isn’t likely, or chose to stay with the living in the Earthly Realm.”
“Earthly Realm,” Jackie repeated as she rolled her eyes, unable to conceal the mockery. Michael gave her a sideways glance and a motion with his hand that said, Let her explain.
“And I take it that since you invited me to ask him myself, you can communicate with spirits?” Clay asked.
“That’s right. I’m a medium.”
Clay thought for a moment. Jackie looked over to Martha. “Assuming what you say is real, why would a spirit choose to stay here?”
Martha ignored her jab, quite used to the doubt from those new to the idea. “It’s usually for emotional reasons like anger or obsession, but more commonly out of concern, which translates to a need to try and protect loved ones. That’s what this looks like to me.” Martha knew there were many more potential reasons, perhaps a deeper purpose. She also knew die Wächtergeiste did not lightly interfere in the affairs of the Earthly Realm. But she had a hunch and wanted to keep the conversation focused.
