

## LUCID

### Nightmare

A Novella by

– E. clay–

This book was inspired by true events, but names and some events have been changed to protect the privacy of those portrayed.

Lucid Nightmare

Copyright © E. Clay 2017

New Paradigm Publishers-All rights reserved

ISBN 978-0-9971954-4-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-0-9971954-5-3 (eBook)

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by photocopying or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Eyes Have It

Chapter 2: Indecent Proposal

Chapter 3: Paradigm Shift

Chapter 4: The Pleasure Principal

Chapter 5: Thief in the Night

Chapter 6: The Last House on the Left

Chapter 7: The Assessment

Chapter 8: The Fine Print

Chapter 9: The Harvest

Chapter 10: Immortal Combat

Author's Corner

### Prologue

Clay Thompson is an American writer based in a small English town outside London, where he enjoys a comfortable lifestyle with Claire, a recent love interest. After years of enjoying good fortune, Clay experiences a calamitous setback that threatens his livelihood and even his new found relationship. Desperate to get his life back on track he seeks out a renowned local gypsy to "fix" his recent misfortune. Clay's encounter pays dividends that exceed his expectations...at a price. Will Clay successfully navigate through this maze of a nightmare? Or will he find out...

When you dance with the Devil, the music never ends.

### Chapter 1: The Eyes Have It

November 5, 2017 10:30 a.m.

Radio Station HZR 104 FM, Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire, United Kingdom

Five, four, three, two, one!

"It's a quarter past the hour. I'm your host, Kill Bill, and with me is Clay Thompson, a local author. Good morning."

"Good morning," Clay responded, semi relaxed.

"Hmm, I detect an American accent. Tell our listeners where you're from and how did you wind up here in the UK."

"Originally, I'm from Detroit. I retired from the U.S Marines some years ago and found a job here in the U.K as a technical writer. Now, I'm a full time fiction writer for New Paradigm Publishers. I'm 55 now, so I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks."

Well, I read your book, and I liked it."

Clay gave a sigh of relief. His shoulders dropped. Clay knew the radio host wasn't one to pull punches on his critiques. Clay welcomed the opportunity for a lively discussion with someone that connected with his story.

"Bill, I'm so glad you liked the book. I'm just hoping readers here in the UK and in the US will too," Clay responded as he leaned forward closer to the mic.

"So, the story is set in Huntingdon. Did you know that Huntingdon is the most well-read town in all of the UK?" asked the host.

"I only recently found out as I was doing market research for the book. This story is a little dark; I just hope it's not too dark."

"Clay, what can you tell our listeners about your new book without revealing any spoilers?"

"Well, Bill, I would classify the book as paranormal. Through various characters in the book, we see a battle of spiritual warfare, a fight for one man's soul. There's also a budding romance that's challenged by dark experiences; experiences that would weaken even the strongest of men and women."

Clay continued. "The book explores the incredible impact of dreams on the human psyche and our everyday lives. I believe our dreams can reshape our thought processes during sleep, whether we recall them or not. Dreams really do matter."

"Nightmares too?" Bill interjected.

"Most definitely, especially nightmares."

"Hmm, the thought of waking up with a new way of thinking based on a dream that I couldn't recall is kinda scary, don't cha think?"

"I agree, but I can give you a real life example. A few years ago, I had a horrible personality conflict with my supervisor at work. It was awful. I saw her threat to my career and I'm sure she saw me in the same light. I lost several nights' sleep and the issue completely mind hijacked my every thought."

"Well, I had a dream, a very realistic dream that I was at work drafting my resignation letter from my computer. As I was about to hit the send button, I got an instant message from Barbara, my nemesis, on our work chat.

" _Clay, I'd really like it if we could reset our work relationship. It's causing me too much grief and it's affecting others here at the office. Let's put our differences aside and work together. Wanna go for a coffee? My treat."_

"Bill, I felt such a tremendous weight lifted in that dream. I woke up happy with a smile on my face. My resentment had vanished. I couldn't wait to go to work and engage her without the heavy baggage. I remember the conversation perfectly."

"Good morning, Barbara. Did you do anything exciting over the weekend?" I asked with a sincere smile.

"Barbara looked around because she could not fathom that I was speaking to her in such a friendly tone. I then asked if I could treat her to a cup of her favorite caramel macchiato at the café downstairs. She accepted. From that moment on we started to repair our work relationship. I call her a friend now, something I could've never imagined before the dream. Dreams do matter."

Bill stoked his mustache. He appeared to appreciate Clay's take.

"Interesting. Very interesting. You may have a point there. Let's shift gears for a second, and chat about the purpose of dreams. Dreams must serve some purpose other than entertainment for the subconscious during sleep. So what is your personal opinion?"

"There are a few schools of thought on the subject. One theory suggests dreams allow us to carry out risky behavior in a safe environment, to allow us to make better decisions without real life consequences. I personally believe I dream for two reasons. First, I would have to say problem solving. If I'm confused or unsure about an important decision, sometimes I dream about it to get better clarity."

"So what's the second purpose?"

Delayed response.

"My dreams serve as a portal, a gateway..."

Bill glanced over at the flashing phone lines. "I think we have time to take a couple of questions from our listeners. Caller one, you're on the air."

"Hi Clay, I just finished your new book. I gotta ask—is this a true story?"

"Yes," Clay responded eagerly. "The story is based on a personal experience."

"Oh, my. Thank you."

"Caller two. Go."

"Clay, I read your new book. Is it your belief that the dead can interact with the living during a sleep state?"

Clay took a very deep breath and gently rubbed his forehead. His answer would challenge his Christian beliefs. His response was subdued and somber.

"Yes."

One year earlier

November 9, 2016

Clay's Residence, 1 a.m

"Whew. What time is it, Clay?" Claire asked as she stared at the ceiling, clutching the duvet.

Clay reached for his glasses on the nightstand.

"It's almost one in the morning, babe. What time did you get here?"

Claire offered a devilish grin.

"I pulled into your driveway at eight. I think it was only a few minutes past when you got me naked."

"A whole three minutes. Man, I must be losing my touch," Clay said in jest.

Claire rested her head on Clay's chest.

"Clay, it's been a long time since I've been with someone, and although I want to take it slow...this is anything but slow. I want to know more about you. I want to know what's in that head of yours."

Clay stared into Claire's soft green eyes and kissed her lips.

"I know. There's so much to tell you. Things you need to know. I'm a little cautious because I value what we have and I don't want to scare you away. But after two months, I guess it's time for a truth-in-lending conversation. Soon. I promise, sweetheart."

"Okay, my sexy man."

Claire sat upright in the bed and grabbed the remote control. Clay rested his head on her lap.

"Clay, the US election was last night. Did you vote?"

Distracted by the softness of her thighs, he feigned interest.

"Yeah, I voted. I wasn't excited about the presidential ticket."

"Hmm. Not surprising."

Clay started to kiss her navel. "The down ticket has so much more appeal."

"Clay, you are so naughty."

"That said, I have little interest in the body of Congress," Clay continued. "I'm much more interested in the body of Claire at the moment. Just to warn you, the southern part of your body is under threat. You might have to call in the National Guard, my love."

Claire slowly rolled back the duvet, exposing her tempting nude body.

"Well, if the invasion doesn't begin soon, I will have to invoke my NATO policy."

Clay looked slightly perplexed.

"NATO policy? What's that?"

"NATO—nothing after two o'clock," Claire whispered in Clay's ear, laughing.

The Next Morning

Relentless chimes of the doorbell were followed by loud knocks at the door. Claire donned Clay's robe and scurried down the stairs.

Claire whisked open the curtains to investigate, inviting the soft rays of the sun into the living room.

"Babe, you've got a package and a certified letter. I can sign for it if you want."

After Clay and Claire feasted on a hearty English breakfast, Claire pointed to the parcel and letter on the kitchen counter.

"Aren't you interested in what's in the post, my love?"

Clay's eyes widened. "Hmm, let's see. What do we have here?" Clay said as he stood over the items.

Clay opened the parcel first. "'Congratulations. You were one of a few select new customers in our drawing last month. Please accept this home security system as a token of our appreciation.' Wow. This is an elaborate setup. It's a Wi-Fi system that I can monitor on my phone. Nice."

"You have a letter too, my love."

Clay beamed as he read the return address. He returned to his seat. Claire sat on his lap.

"Good news?" she inquired.

"I love mail stamped Private and Confidential. Especially mail from the Veterans Evaluation Services," Clay exclaimed. "After being retired from the Marines over seventeen years, I finally submitted for a VA disability examination," he clarified. "I just never got around to doing it until six months ago. I finally have an appointment. The VA disability process for veterans overseas is slightly more complicated. The VA has to outsource for exams to meet the demand of vets like me living abroad. Looks like I've got my appointment in downtown London."

Clay noticed a change in Claire's demeanor. She appeared to be sad.

"What's wrong, baby? You look worried," Clay asked.

"Sigh...disability? Is there something I should be concerned about?" Claire asked. Her voice quivered.

Clay gently touched the side of her face with his right hand. It was time for transparency and openness.

"I guess there's no other way to tell you. I should have told you after we started getting serious."

Claire seemed moments away from shedding a tear. Clay saw it in her eyes.

"The truth is I have a heart condition and a respiratory ailment."

"Oh my God," Claire gasped.

"The problem with my heart is...it was stolen by a five-foot-two-inch brunette with amazing eyes. The other issue is, whenever I look into those soft green eyes, she takes my breath away."

### Chapter 2: Indecent Proposal

Next Day

University of Maryland, European Division (Huntingdon Office)

Staff break room

Clay stood by the coffee machine, waiting patiently for his caffeine fix. Two fellow staff members, Kevin and Tony, waited in line behind Clay, complaining of the pay cut they'd just received.

"So, Clay—did you hear that our pay got cut by ten percent?" asked Kevin from the back of the line.

Clay poured his favorite hazelnut creamer in his coffee and took a sip, then turned around to respond.

"Ahh. Now that's good coffee," he said, pointing to his cup. "Yep. I heard. I'm not surprised."

Kevin and Tony sought Clay's condemnation on the issue, but were slightly miffed at his nonchalant attitude.

"Whaddaya mean you're not surprised?" asked Kevin.

"Dude. This is Brexit fallout. The dollar is stronger than ever, which means the cost of living is cheaper here. The cost-of-living allowance you get is based on the exchange rate. Doesn't really affect me because I volunteered to teach the Creative Writing curriculum. This is pro bono."

Kevin and Tony turned their backs on Clay and continued their griping.

"If it weren't for my disability check, I would be seriously screwed," Kevin complained.

Tony nodded and responded, "That reminds me, I owe you big time. I saw Nefertiti like you suggested and I sailed through my disability checkup. Just waiting to see what rating the VA awards me. I want to get paid like you."

Clay eavesdropped and was drawn into their conversation.

"Excuse me, but I couldn't help but overhear," he interjected. "I've got my VA appointment in a couple of weeks in London, down on Harley Street. I'm not trying to game this system; I just want to know what to expect," Clay said.

Kevin gave Tony a suspicious wink. Kevin looked over his shoulder and told Tony to close the door, then placed his arm around Clay and led him to the corner of the room for privacy. Clay knew something was up. Kevin wasted no time in letting Clay in on a guarded secret.

"Clay, I'm gonna do you a favor. You can thank me later," Kevin whispered on the sly.

"Listen to him, Clay. You won't regret it. Promise," Tony reassured him.

"Why do I feel that something's up? Is this one of those pyramid schemes or something?" Clay asked.

"No, this is about protecting your future. Listen, a few months ago, Congress dumped millions of dollars into the VA for veterans who suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD. All you have to do is answer a few questions correctly, and the money is yours for the taking. It's criminal and foolish not to take what's rightfully yours. There are symptoms you can claim that cannot be disproved because they are stress related. They just take your word for it and....cha-ching!" Kevin fist-pumped.

Clay's felt he was being scammed into something.

"If it's too good to be true, then it's gotta be just that. Not to mention that it's morally wrong."

Kevin looked at Tony and drew closer to Clay, invading his space. "You judging us? Huh?"

Clay backed up against the corner.

"No. Not judging you at all. It just sounds too good to be true, that's all."

"Kevin, tell him how much you get from the VA every month," Tony interjected.

Kevin nodded. "I get fourteen hundred dollars every month for...chest pains related to PTSD. They fell for that bullshit."

"Tony, tell Mr. Righteous how much you get paid," Kevin commanded.

Tony became slightly enthusiastic.

"How about if I show him my act first?"

"Okay, let me get in character first." Tony closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.

Clay folded his arms and waited for the freak show to begin.

Within seconds, Tony's demeanor morphed into something devious. He had a deranged look on his face. There was an unstable presence about him when he opened his eyes. He started blinking violently, and then his eyes darted from left to right and back again. A vein in his right temple appeared and throbbed. His face looked like a time bomb ready to explode. Something came over him, something disturbed. Tony started to argue with himself and things escalated. Clay had had enough.

"Okay, okay. You get the Oscar. You are one scary dude."

Tony returned to his timid demeanor and responded.

"That phony routine got me twelve hundred dollars a month disability and I get my full retirement pay as a master sergeant on top of that. Thanks to Kevin. He's got the hookup."

Both high-fived each other.

Clay was confused.

"Hookup? What do you mean, hookup?"

Tony stepped out of Clay's space and started his pitch.

"Clay, do you consider yourself a good bullshitter?"

"What kind of question is that? No," Clay answered defensively.

Kevin reached into his wallet a pulled out a yellow sticky with a local number and address on it. He presented it to Clay.

"I didn't think so. You need to get your head right, then," Kevin affirmed, pointing to Clay's temple. "Call this number. Her name is Nefertiti. She'll get you through the psych exam. Guaranteed. Get paid."

"Is she a hypnotist or something?" Clay asked.

Kevin stuck the number in Clay's shirt pocket and patted it.

"Just call her. Get paid," Kevin repeated as he and Tony departed.

Later That Night at Frankie and Benny's in St. Neots

"Yes, I'll have a rib eye steak with new potatoes, please. And my partner will have the cod and chips," Claire requested as she handed the menus to the waitress.

Clay placed his phone on the table and took the battery out. Claire noticed Clay's annoyance at the constant ringing of his phone.

"Someone must be desperate to get a hold of you," Claire commented. "Your phone hasn't stopped ringing since you got home. Why don't you just answer it?"

Clay shook his head. "I know who it is. This guy just won't take no for an answer. What's his deal?" Clay lamented.

"Who is it, then?" Claire inquired.

"This guy named Kevin. He wants me to meet up with some woman. I think her name is Nefertiti."

"Is he trying to play matchmaker or something?" She appeared suspicious.

Clay grabbed Claire's hand to reassure her. "No, sweetheart. It's nothing like that at all. Kevin and this guy named Tony are involved in some scam to cheat the VA out of money. Both claimed illnesses related to PTSD to get compensation."

Claire's eyebrows rose. She circled the conversation back to the mystery lady.

"Does she know you have a partner? Who is this woman anyway?" The elevated volume of Claire's voice captured the attention of nearby patrons.

"I guess Nefertiti is some kind of...heck, I don't know. All I know is she helps vets get through the VA psych exam. How she does it, beats me," Clay responded.

"You're not thinking of—"

"Of course not. It's wrong on so many levels. Why would I need to cheat the government? I make a decent living between the revenue I get from my books plus my military retirement. I need to be able to look myself in the mirror each day and like what I see. I don't know how anyone can sleep at night knowing they're stealing from other vets with genuine debilitating issues."

"I'm glad you said that, Clay. Maybe this Kevin guy gets a kickback from this woman. He's obviously keen to get you onboard." Claire responded in a less aggressive tone.

Clay rubbed his forehead. He appeared confused. "Don't think it's about money. There must be some other reason."

After dinner, the waitress cleared the plates and topped up Claire's coffee.

"So, are you spending the night? I'd hate to see you make that long drive home this late at night," Clay said after he checked his watch.

Claire leaned forward. "Clay, I live three houses down from here. What are you talking about? Clay, I want to get closer to you, but I sense there's a wall preventing me from reaching you. Let me in."

"Okay, what do you want to know? Ask me anything."

"Tell me something you've never told a soul."

Clay pondered her request, deep in thought. "Let me think about it for a second. You go first."

"Alright, but promise me you won't think I'm crazy. Promise me."

"Scout's honor."

Claire composed herself. The suspense clearly captured Clay's attention.

"Okay. My nan came to visit me three years ago."

Clay was confused.

"Okaaay. I'm waiting for the punch line. I'm still waiting..."

Claire wasn't laughing. She was far from it.

"Clay, this isn't a joke. My nan died over thirty years ago," Claire said sadly.

Clay sat back in his chair, at a loss for words.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you? I shouldn't have told you."

"I don't think you're crazy at all," Clay reassured Claire. "So many people here in England believe in ghosts. Why is that a secret?"

"Because she only visited me," Claire explained. "She loved us all, but it was me she chose to visit. It was a full body apparition and I wasn't scared."

Goose bumps appeared on Clay's arm as she spoke.

"Your turn, Clay. Tell me a secret."

"Okay. I'll tell you a family secret. A secret that only my brother and I share. I'm a lucid dreamer, but I wasn't born that way. I usually know when I'm dreaming, and most times I can control the content of my dreams. Most of the time," Clay confessed.

Claire was underwhelmed by Clay's revelation.

"Not sure why that's a secret, but it is remarkable. How did you learn? You read one of those dream state books, right?"

"No, my older brother Darryl taught me. Three weeks after he died."

"In the second grade, I was tormented by Aaron Hightower, the class bully. He always smelled like sour milk. He broke my nose after school once. I eventually told my brother Darryl and he told my dad. My dad immediately confronted the principal and demanded that Aaron be dealt with. Aaron got expelled the last month of school and had to make it up over summer school. The rest of his family went on a two-week summer vacation without him, while he stayed with his aunt. Aaron blamed me for missing out and promised to finish me when school started in the fall. Eventually summer ended, and I was assigned to be in Aaron's class in the third grade."

"Did Aaron continue to torment you?"

"Aaron drowned in a ravine after his aunt's car swerved off the road trying to avoid a drunk driver. She survived. It all happened a day before his parents returned from the trip. If I had kept my mouth shut, Aaron would have gone on the family trip and he'd still be alive. He was eight years old. The school had a memorial for him on the first day of class. I remember feeling guilty about not being sad. I was relieved. But my relief was short-lived."

"Someone else started picking on you?" Claire asked.

"No, it was Aaron. Somehow he found a way into my dreams, and the beatings continued, but more violently. Apparently, I'm an anomaly among dreamers because unlike most, I can feel real pain in my sleep. I also don't have the ability to terminate nightmares. Most people just wake up. I wish it was that easy. I once dreamt Aaron punched me in the face."

"And?"

"I woke up with a bloody nose."

"Blymie! I never thought of ghosts tormenting us in our dreams. From what I understand about ghosts, they're stuck, unable to crossover because of certain attachments in the world they left. But sometimes it's a matter of unfinished business."

Clay elaborated further.

"My brother Darryl was a Marine. Just after Christmas in 1969, I heard he got shot in Vietnam. He died in a hospital three days later on my birthday. He was my hero. Darryl found a way into my dreams too."

Clay took a deep solemn breath, then continued, "The last nightmare I had about Aaron almost killed me. In that dream, he tried to strangle me. I could feel his hands tightening around my throat, choking me. I stopped breathing like it was really happening. My mom heard me choking and ran into my bedroom. She panicked because she couldn't wake me up. I was slipping away right in front of her. I could hear her calling my name faintly, but I couldn't get out of my nightmare. They say you can't die in your dreams. But you can. I almost did."

"What saved you?"

"Darryl. He found a way to reach me. He chased Aaron away. Only then did I begin to breathe again, and eventually I woke up. My mom thought it was an asthma attack. I never told her the truth. In that nightmare, Darryl taught me awareness and how to control my dreams. I can do it most of the time. It's that just my dreams are so real; sometimes I don't know I'm dreaming. If it weren't for Darryl, I'd be dead, choked to death by a dead eight-year-old bully."

"Do you see your brother in your dreams now?"

"Yes. When I'm lost and confused, Darryl appears in my dreams and guides me to mental clarity. I believe the dream state is a gateway for the dead to communicate and even engage the living."

He paused, then added, "Do you think I'm crazy?"

The waitress approached the table with the receipt and Clay's credit card. "I'm sorry, Mr. Thompson," she whispered into Clay's ear, "but the bank has declined your payment. Do you have another card you can use?"

### Chapter 3: Paradigm Shift

Huntingdon Community Bank

Customer Service Desk

"Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson. How can I be of assistance?"

Clay sat across the desk from the assistant manager, eager to explain his hypothesis of his overdrawn status.

"Maria, you guys are so formal. Please call me Clay."

"Okay, but don't tell my staff. I require it of them," Maria said.

"The good news is I checked my email and I received the remortgage documents you sent over awhile back. I figured, why pay all that interest over ten more years when I can pay it off in five? Like you said, speculate to accumulate, right?"

Maria smiled. "Absolutely. So what's the bad news?"

"Maria, I think my identity has been stolen. I checked my account online, and it says I'm about six grand in the hole. I usually have about ten grand just sitting in this account, and I've made no large purchases for months."

Maria logged into Clay's account and swiveled the monitor in his direction.

"Clay. I don't think your identity has been compromised. I can see exactly what the problem is."

Clay shook his head in disbelief. It was obvious.

"There must be some mistake," Clay complained.

Maria had more bad news.

"Clay, I'm looking at the notes on your account. You need to check your post."

"Why?"

"Because the bank has initiated foreclosure proceedings."

The Next Day

New Paradigm Publishers, London

"Hi, I'm Clay Thompson. I really need to speak with Ms. Emily Banks. It's urgent," Clay said in desperation.

The receptionist promptly checked her online calendar.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

"I can make an appointment for sometime next week. How about Wednesday?"

Clay was out of patience and kept checking his time on his watch.

"I'm sorry, this can't wait. I need to speak with Emily, right now."

"Mr. Thompson, Mr. Thompson, come back. Security, security!" she shouted.

Clay made a dash for the crowded elevator just before it closed. Sweat poured from his brow.

He was frantic, and it was unsettling to others in the elevator. Clay impatiently counted every floor until he reached his destination.

Fifth floor. Now opening. Bing.

Clay muscled his way through the crowd and made a hard right at the vending machine. Although it was a very short distance, Clay was out of breath. He stood in front of his agent's private office.

She was engaged in a conversation via speakerphone.

Clay checked his watch every few seconds. He was manic.

Clay had reason to be worried. He was seconds away from being accosted by two burly security officers.

"Mister, come with us, now!" commanded the senior security officer.

"Wait, wait. I only need a few moments with...."

"He's okay, officer. He's my two forty-five appointment," Emily affirmed in a delightful Irish accent.

The two officers released Clay after a minor struggle.

Clay was relieved and grateful that Emily intervened.

She invited Clay into her posh and luxurious office, beautifully complemented with a world-class view.

"Sit down, Clay. Can I get you a cuppa?" Emily offered.

Clay quickly declined. He had little patience for pleasantries and wanted to dive in headfirst regarding his royalties.

"Emily, I'm desperate. I'm hoping you can tell me why my royalties have dried up after all these years. I just remortgaged my house. Maybe it's just a computer error. Can you check accounting, please?"

Emily removed her glasses and placed them on her desk. She logged on to a separate stand-alone computer behind her.

"I'm going to be late for my three o'clock appointment, but I can reschedule. You owe me, Clay. The next time I see you, bring me some Captain Crunch cereal from the commissary. Too bad they don't sell it here in the UK. Ever since I took the kids to Disneyland, all they want for breakfast is Captain Crunch."

"You got it," Clay responded as he twiddled his thumbs.

After a few minutes of silence, Emily logged off and swiveled around towards Clay.

"Clay, I must level with you. I saw your royalty payments for the quarter and there is no mistake."

Clay sunk deeper into despair. "But why? How?" Clay pleaded.

"Clay, England is starting to feel the pinch of Brexit," Emily explained with empathy. "People have less discretionary income these days. Also, the market has shifted to e-books more than ever, and fewer paperbacks are being sold. Not to mention self-published books are starting to really eat into the market share. The only way we can compete is to discount prices, which affects your bottom line."

"But what about my _Creative Writing Guide for Dummies_? I had hundreds of contracts with universities in the States. That was my moneymaker."

"Clay, you haven't published a revised edition since 2012. We've had this talk before. You've got to stay current in academia."

Clay's complacency had cost him and he knew it. It stung.

"Okay, but what about _Flagrant Misconduct_? That book was a mainstay for high schools all over the country. What happened?"

Emily sighed.

"Clay, _Flagrant Misconduct_ was a good book that taught a valuable lesson about bullying in school. My kids read it. But times have changed, and school districts are deciding to highlight more positive themes in literature. Books that espouse diversity is where the money is in high school literature. Clay, if it's money you need, I can loan you some money. We go way back and I know you're good for it."

"Emily, you know I can't go there. I have to earn it. Can you give me some advice?" Clay asked.

Emily folded her arms and rocked back and forth in her executive chair. She offered a solution.

"Okay. Do you want to know what genre is slaying the competition and dominating bestseller lists?"

"Sure, tell me," Clay responded in anticipation.

"Just two words, Clay: paranormal and paranormal. Get me a paranormal or supernatural manuscript, and I can get you an advance that would ease the pain. _The Crossover_ went straight to number one. Why didn't you write a sequel?"

Clay stood and walked toward the large window with its majestic view of Big Ben.

"That well went dry. I exhausted all of my paranormal creative juices in that story. I never really intended to write that book in the first place. I think there are only so many ghost stories you can tell. I've told all of mine in _The Crossover_. You know how I operate, more than anyone."

"If you can't see it, you can't feel it. And if you can't feel it, you can't write it," Emily said, repeating a motto Clay had coined for himself.

"Exactly."

Emily pointed to a file buried in her in basket.

"I just approved a twenty-thousand-pound advance for a mediocre paranormal manuscript by a novice writer, but it's got potential. You get me my manuscript sprinkled with a bit of romance and you're back in business. Okay?"

Clay stood and gave Emily a double air-kiss. He thanked her for her time.

"I never could write on command. I'll have to find another way out of this mess."

Clay walked past the receptionist who'd called security, making sure to acknowledge her on his way out.

On the windshield of his vintage black 1969 Jaguar was a ticket, issued only minutes before. Clay managed to spot the officer citing another car nearby.

"Excuse me, Officer. That's my Jag over there. I have three minutes remaining on my pay display ticket. Look, I have it right here."

The officer completely ignored Clay until he finished citing the other car. He seemed to enjoy his work.

Clay repeated himself in a slightly elevated tone. He then gained the officers attention.

The officer looked at the ticket and checked his watch.

"I suggest you shift your vehicle, mate. Or else I'll slap with another citation. That's another eighty quid."

Clay was seething. "So you're admitting my time has not expired. Unbelievable."

"Aye. Follow me," instructed the officer.

The officer led Clay to his car with the ticket flapping in the wind. He pointed to the front end of the car. Clay was confused.

"Your bonnet is just over the line, encroaching into the space in front," the officer clarified.

Clay inspected the infraction. "But, sir, it's barely a few inches over the line."

The officer smiled. "So you're admitting it's over the line. Unbelievable," the officer mocked. "You've got one minute before I issue the second citation. Shift your vehicle, mate!"

_Screeeech!_ Clay pulled off in a hurry to avoid yet another penalty.

### Chapter 4: The Pleasure Principal

One Month Later

On the way home from the fitness center, Clay received a call from Claire.

"Where are you, sweetheart? I've been trying to reach you for ages?"

"Just on the A14 about thirty minutes away. Why, is there something wrong?"

Clay sensed uneasiness in Claire's voice.

"Uhm, there was a strange man who was just here. I don't think he was a friend of yours."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to know who all lived at the residence. I told him just you and then he walked away."

Clay pondered a few moments before coming to a logical conclusion.

"Not to worry, baby. He's probably from the town council. I go through this every year because I'm not a registered voter. I'm sure that's all it is."

Clay's reassurance did little to assuage Claire's concerns.

Later that night, Clay finally confided in Claire about his recent financial woes. Despite his façade of optimism, he was troubled. Very troubled.

"Claire, if I would have just left my mortgage alone, I'd be fine. I'm two months behind now. Next month I have to come bring my account current, or else," Clay said as he sat on his black love seat in front of the fireplace.

Claire perched on Clay's lap and kissed him.

"Clay, I have some money tucked away for a rainy day. I'd like to help."

Clay was appreciative of Claire's generosity, but he needed to explain the extent of his debt.

"I can't tell you how much that means to me. But I don't think you know how deep this hole is. It's a lot."

Claire asked the obvious question.

"About nineteen grand."

Claire's eyes widened.

"A few years ago, a couple of my books started to generate silly amounts of money, mostly from high schools and universities in the States," Clay explained. "I knew I needed to invest, so I bought this house last year on a ten-year mortgage. A few months ago, I decided to refinance my house over a five-year mortgage. My monthly payments skyrocketed from three thousand a month to six thousand a month, but the money was there. I could afford it."

Clay rested his head on Claire's shoulder.

"If this is a dream, I wish I would just wake up," Clay lamented.

Claire smiled at Clay.

"Well, you told me you can feel real pain in your dreams. Is that right?"

"Unfortunately, that is the case," Clay conceded.

Claire stood from Clay's lap and began to undress one garment at a time. She was completely nude in seconds.

"Claire?"

"Well, we know you can feel real pain in your dreams. I want to know if you can feel real pleasure."

Fade to black.

The Next Day

Clay received a text message from Claire.

**Claire** : Is date night still on?

**Clay** : Yes. I have two free tickets to see the new _Expendables_ film and a Domino's Pizza coupon.

**Clay** : Claire? You still there?

Delayed response.

**Claire** : I'm picking you up and making you a home-cooked meal. How about chicken curry?

**Clay** : Much better option. What time?

**Claire** : Around seven. Bridget Jones's Baby is on Sky at eight.

**Clay** : Oh, okay. See you tonight xxx.

Claire prepared a world-class chicken curry for Clay. She made Clay promise not to talk about finances for the rest of the night.

Clay overindulged and pushed back slightly from table to unloosen his belt.

"Clay, I can tell when your mind is miles away. What are you thinking about?"

Clay placed his hand on his stomach. "I was just trying to figure out if you're better in the bedroom or in the kitchen. It's close."

Claire balled up her napkin and threw it at Clay. "Anyway, I've got some news I want to share with you. It's good news," Claire exclaimed.

"Good, I could use some good news. What's up?"

"I just found out that I won estate agent of the year for Huntingdon, St. Ives and St. Neots," Claire said excitedly.

"Wow. That's great. I'm glad you're getting recognized for all your hard work. What's your secret for success?"

"I think I have a knack for making minor improvements that have a major impact on potential buyers. With just a little TLC, I can close any deal. Before I was an estate agent, I was a home designer. I'm pretty handy when it comes to DIY. I can do most jobs myself."

Clay began to clear the table and started the dishes. He was impressed with Claire's versatility.

"DIY? I love DIY too," Clay said.

Claire joined him and dried the dishes.

"I didn't know you were a DIY guy."

"Oh, yes. Absolutely. I could watch it for hours."

Claire rabbit punched Clay in the shoulder.

After the dishes were put away, Clay and Claire convened on the love seat. Clay and Claire had been dating almost four months, and although Clay seemed to shy away from talking about past relationships, Claire was not. She edged Clay to open up about his past.

Clay addressed his previous relationship that lasted only three weeks.

Claire had questions. "So after you found out she had multiple personalities, did you break it off?"

Clay shook his head. "Not right away. I got along with three of them. It was the fourth one that got on my nerves," he answered.

Claire gave Clay a strange look. "That's just too complicated. I think I might be a little too normal for you, my dear."

Clay put his arms around Claire and reassured her. "I can do normal, I think?" Clay joked.

It was Claire's turn to reveal her last heartache. Reminiscing proved a little uncomfortable for her.

"I dated Brian for almost four years and things were fine, until..."

"Until what?"

Claire sighed. "Until he got into porn and became obsessed with it. It just wasn't me. It twisted him. He had a trunk that he called his treasure chest. It was full of toys, restraints, plastic bedding and anything else you could think of. Intimacy was never spontaneous. It always was preceded by prep time. It just got too bizarre for me. It spoiled a good relationship."

Clay was empathetic. "Well, you can check my browser at home. You won't find any porn," Clay offered.

Claire continued, "I began to dread sex. I remember how much of a turn-on it was the first time you pinned me against the wall and ripped my knickers off. That's what I had been missing, spontaneity."

"I figured either you'd slap me or let me continue."

"That was such a turn-on. The fire alarm in the hotel sounded and you didn't stop," Claire reminisced.

"I couldn't stop, I was so into you," Clay confessed.

"Indeed, you were."

After a few moments of reminiscing, Claire announced she planned to have an early night. Clay also had an early start and stood to gather his jacket and house keys.

On the way to Clay's house, Claire took a shortcut, using the back roads. Claire noticed Clay had become edgy.

"I never come this way at night. I just go the long way," Clay confided.

Claire and Clay drove past the dilapidated yet infamous Brampton Estates.

Clay voiced his sentiment. "I cannot believe I'm passing the Brampton Estates at night. Everyone says it's haunted. Why is it always so foggy during this stretch?"

The Brampton Estates was a military housing complex for officers and their families during the early 2000s. It had been home to about five hundred families until an Army captain had returned home from Afghanistan and murdered his wife and three kids, ages three, five and eight. The murders made national headlines, and residents left in droves in a mass exodus. The military had blamed the murders on PTSD; the media had claimed it was demonic possession. A series of strange accidental deaths among maintenance men and building inspectors all but closed the estate, leaving it overgrown with tall grass and trash blowing in the wind. The Brampton Estates was a real modern-day ghost town with no residents.

Claire looked to her right as she passed the condemned estate. "I heard investors bought the land and planned to open the estate to civilians to purchase. I might be estate agent of the year, but that would be a tough sell even for me. It's got a history, a dark history."

Among the vacated empty residences, Claire spotted a lone house with a light on in the living room. "Well, apparently someone isn't afraid of its past."

"I don't know how anyone could live there. This place makes my hair stand on end. Can you speed up, honey?"

After a short trip along a foggy and poorly lit road, the pair reached their destination.

"We're home, babe. Clay?"

"Oh, sorry. Still a little creeped out. I think I felt a presence when we drove by. Did you?"

"Clay, you have been watching way too much _Most Haunted_. Relax, you're home now. I would spend the night, but I need my sleep."

Claire walked Clay to the door and kissed him goodnight.

"Oh, I forgot my favorite earrings; I think I left them on the nightstand."

Clay opened the front door and hung up his jacket. Claire scurried up the stairs to collect her jewelry.

"Clay. They're not on the nightstand where I put them. Do you know where my earrings are?"

Clay walked to the bottom of the stairwell. "The last time I saw them, they were on window ledge next to my Rolex."

"Clay, I don't see your Rolex either."

Clay sprinted up the stairs to investigate.

Clay scratched his head. "Now that's strange. I always leave my watch in this same spot. I put your earrings here so they wouldn't roll off onto the floor."

Clay and Claire frantically searched the house several times over to rule out the possibility of a break-in.

"Claire, I've searched every room at least twice, looking high and low. They couldn't have vanished into thin air."

Claire was equally puzzled and aware of the time. It was getting late.

"Have you checked the garage?" Claire asked.

Clay shook his head. "Why would I check the garage?"

Claire stuck her head in the garage and turned on the light.

"Clay! Call the police!"

Clay was alarmed at the look of panic on Claire's face.

"Babe, what's wrong?" Clay ran to Claire's side.

"Your Jag is gone."

***

"Good evening, Officer Richards. I've been robbed. Must have happened while I was out having dinner with my girlfriend," Clay stated.

Claire nodded. "It had to have happened between the hours of six and half past nine."

The burly officer removed his police helmet and took a look around. His first observation was the alarm keypad mounted on the wall near the front entrance.

"Was your alarm activated while you were out?" he inquired, peering over his glasses.

"No, sir. I wasn't going to be gone long," Clay responded defensively.

The officer clutched his clipboard and made a note of the missing items.

"I've seen hundreds of break-ins, and there is something suspicious about this one," the officer said. He paid particular attention to the pile of past due notices on Clay's kitchen counter.

Clay and Claire sensed the officer's inference.

"I don't understand, Officer," Clay said as he stood by Claire's side.

"Well, first off, your house has a Yale illuminated sign out front. That means it has an alarm," the officer explained. "Thieves generally bypass homes with security. Secondly, look around you. There are several high-value items that the thief could have stolen but chose not to. That's not how thieves operate. You understand that it is against the law to make a false police report? People hit hard times, and miraculously things turn up missing."

Clay and Claire had to keep from losing their composure. They didn't appreciate the officer's insinuation.

"How dare you?" Claire responded with a sharp tongue.

The officer carried on, "Ma'am, there is no sign of forced entry. The only way someone could have entered this house without a key is through that cat flap, which would be impossible."

"Well, sir. Thank you for wasting our time. I will kindly take a copy of your police report for my insurance records," Clay said in a sarcastic English accent.

The officer ripped off a copy of his report and donned his helmet. He rolled his eyes at them, then let himself out.

After the officer departed, Clay rummaged through a stack of mail, looking for his home and auto insurance policies.

"Got it."

Claire sat on the love seat and folded her arms. The officer's accusatory attitude only compounded her frustration over losing her favorite earrings.

Clay was pleased that the customer service reps from his insurance companies were eager to process the claims. Clay was even more impressed when a black 2017 Jaguar XKR showed up in his drive as a like courtesy car within two hours. He would have to wait four business days to determine the total compensation for the claim. Ironically, the claimed loss would equal the total due to bring his mortgage current.

The unpleasant police officer made it his business to get to the bottom of this uncanny coincidence.

### Chapter 5: Thief in the Night

Three Weeks Later

February 13, 2017

Clay was excited to see Claire's white Polo pull into his drive. He stood in the doorway, waiting patiently to tell her the good news.

It was dark and chilly, and Claire was a little tired as she had come straight from work.

"If only my colleagues knew how many hours I put in. I've been told I do too much for my clients," Claire sighed.

"By the way, thanks for the lovely text you sent earlier. So, what's the good news, my love?"

Clay could barely contain himself. He placed both hands gently on the sides of her face and kissed her passionately. "My prayers have been answered. Come inside, beautiful."

Once inside, Clay popped the cork from a bottle of chilled Prosecco. The cork ricocheted off the wall with a loud pop. "This bottle was intended for Valentine's Day, but something important came up," Clay said. "Babe, I know you don't really drink, but have a toast with me."

Clay presented Claire with a martini glass and poured a drink for himself.

Claire tilted her glass towards Clay. "Okay. So, what are we toasting to?"

"We're toasting to buying you new replacement earrings," Clay answered.

Clay and Claire sat on the love seat.

"But Clay, those were eighteen-karat white gold and diamond earrings."

"I know, I was there when you bought them."

"To life, love and prosperity," Clay toasted.

On the coffee table was an opened envelope from Aviva Insurance. Claire spotted it immediately.

"Go on, open it, babe," Clay requested.

Claire placed her drink on the table and picked up the letter. She opened it and read it aloud.

We hope you were satisfied with our handling of your claim. If you would, please fill out the enclosed customer satisfaction survey sheet so we may better assist you in the future. The enclosed check must be cashed within ninety days.

Claire reached inside the envelope and slowly pulled out the check. She was curious.

Claire's green eyes widened. She was pleasantly surprised. "Oh!" Claire responded.

She was happy for Clay. "Twenty thousand? That's a lot of dosh."

Clay had more uplifting news. "I went to the bank today and they said they couldn't renegotiate mortgage terms while my account was in arrears. So you can imagine how excited I was to come home to this," Clay said. "For a moment I thought God had ignored my prayers, but he didn't. He came through."

Clay and Claire's celebratory toast was pure elation.

However, their special moment was interrupted by a loud thumping at the door. Clay answered the front door.

"Good evening, Officer Richards. And the answer is yes...I have been drinking. And I'm likely to have a few more before the night is over. How can I help you, sir?"

Officer Richards was not amused by Clay's attempt at humor. "I need to discuss your case. May I come in?"

The officer removed his police helmet and began writing on his clipboard. He refused to sit.

Claire was concerned. "Are you here to tell us you caught the guilty party?"

The officer removed his glasses and placed them on his clipboard. He was stern.

"The man who removed your possessions from your home—"

Clay stood and corrected the officer. "You mean stole."

Tension in the room swelled, particularly between Clay and the officer.

The officer countered back. "Are you gonna let me talk!"

"As I said, the man who removed your property was just doing his job."

Clay and Claire were taken aback by the officer's comments. Clay stepped between Claire and the officer in a confrontational manner. "I never thought I would hear it from a police officer, but I guess crime does pay. That's what you are saying. Unbelievable," Clay responded sarcastically.

The officer continued. "This was not a robbery. It was a seizure of assets to satisfy a legal debt. Do you understand?"

Clay was in denial. "A legal debt, what legal debt?"

"Huntingdon Jaguar Specialists. Apparently, there were major engine repairs performed on your vehicle and you did not pay."

"I just spoke with Jeff, the owner, and he said he would work with me. He was fine. I know Jeff, he would just call me. Anyway, the bill only came to five grand. He couldn't have taken my car to satisfy a five grand debt."

"And my earrings," Claire added.

"You are wrong on both accounts. Jeff is not the owner. He's an assistant manager. A bailiff was dispatched to seize your property. Bailiffs often seize up to five times the amount of the debt to cover legal expenses, storage, advertising costs and auction fees."

Claire waived her index finger at the officer. "Excuse me, but I've worked with bailiffs in the past, and they cannot just break into your home and remove property."

Once again the officer had an answer. "You are right. But they can access your property if a door is unlocked or a window is opened. I noticed that you like to keep your bedroom window ajar."

Reality slowly crept into Clay's conscious. Both Clay and Claire recalled the incident where a strange man had wanted verification of the identity of the owner of the residence—the man Clay had thought was a voter registration agent for the council.

"But my bedroom is on the second floor; you'd need a ladder to get up there."

"A thief probably wouldn't risk it. But a bailiff is protected by a court order. My advice to you is to contact your insurance company and notify them immediately. You are not entitled to any compensation. It would be a criminal offense prosecutable by law if you proceeded. You have been advised."

The officer placed his police helmet on and departed.

Clay collapsed onto the love seat, staring at the check. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye. Claire sensed Clay's inconsolable state.

"I needed that money. That was my lifeline. Why didn't he just keep his nose out of my business?"

What had started as bitterness evolved into rage. Claire saw a hostile side of Clay she had never seen before. She was wary.

Clay started his rant. "Maybe I should have thought twice about retiring here in England."

"What are you talking about, sweetheart?"

"How can a perfect stranger just sneak into someone's home and take what they like? How is that even legal? Imagine this...we're sound asleep in bed and some stranger enters through our bedroom window in the early hours of the night. I promise you, Claire, it's not gonna end well for him. He's got two choices, and neither of them are good," Clay assured.

"And what two choices might that be?"

"Leave in a stretcher or in a body bag."

Claire was uneasy at Clay's emotional meltdown. "But we don't do that here in England. This is not the States," she defended.

Clay stood with the check in hand. "But I'm not English. I'm from Chicago. And where I come from, we have no problem defending our property. And we don't resolve the issue with harsh language."

Clay crumpled the check in his fist. He was seething with anger.

"Should I go home?"

Claire's soft voice momentarily snapped Clay out of his wrath.

"Come here. Of course not. You're my rock. I need you. I'm gonna lose this house now; I need to accept the inevitable. I've run out of time and options. I can deal with losing my Jag; it's just a car. It can be replaced. But I can't recover from losing this house."

Clay received a text from Emily, his publisher. He read the message, then flung the phone onto the love seat.

"Who was that?"

"You can read it. Just when I thought my creative mojo was back, I get hit with a bombshell."

Claire read Clay's text.

Where's my paranormal manuscript? I just approved another twenty grand advance. Call me when you've got something. Emily.

2 a.m. Valentine's Day

Clay didn't sleep a wink. He felt dejected and was consumed with hopelessness. He slid out of bed to get dressed. He awakened Claire from a deep sleep.

"Clay, where are you going? It's almost two o'clock in the morning?"

"I just need to take a walk. I've gotta clear my head. Thank you for making me realize that all the anger in the world will not solve my problems. Only God can. I'll be back, hun."

Clay kissed Claire on the lips and grabbed his jacket.

After circling the estate twice under a bright full moon, Clay leaned against a red Royal Mail mailbox. He stared into the starry sky.

"Lord, I have no idea what you are trying to tell me, but you've got my attention. My faith is hanging on by a fingernail, and I feel as though you've abandoned me. This is more than I can bear. Please help me. Please. Amen."

Clay shoved his hands in his pockets and walked home in the brisk cold.

He entered the bedroom and watched Claire as she slept soundly. Clay reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. Inside his wallet, a yellow sticky note seemed to beckon him. Desperation weakened Clay and his faith.

"Lord, forgive me for what I'm about to do," he prayed.

He undressed and lay next to Claire's warm body until he drifted into a deep coma-like sleep.

###  Chapter 6: The Last House on the Left

Valentine's Day

Claire had gone to work early to preview a house for a client. Clay waved from the window as her white Polo drove away. Within a few minutes, Clay found himself in the middle of a call with his insurance company. He advised the representative of the latest developments and was instructed to return the check via recorded delivery immediately.

Clay sat in the brand-new Jaguar XKR with the crumpled check in hand. Just before he inserted the key, a black sedan pulled in right beside him. Two men in suits exited the vehicle.

"Are you Mr. Thompson?" asked the older gentleman.

Clay opened the door slightly to respond. "Yes, that's me. What can I do for you?"

The older gentleman removed his sunglasses and identified himself.

"I'm John Boyle from Excalibur Car hire, and this is my associate. We've come to collect our vehicle. Please remove any items you may have inside, and my associate will take the keys."

"But that leaves me with no transportation," Clay replied in desperation.

"Well, come with us, and I'm sure we can extend your contract. You can hire it for the week for only four hundred and fifty pounds."

"I think I'll pass. It's a beautiful car, and she was a pleasure to drive. Here're the keys."

"Great, there is just one thing I need you to sign."

"Sure, what's that?" Clay asked.

"According to your insurance company, you were not entitled to a courtesy car. So we need you to sign a modified contract so we can bill you for the time it was in your possession."

Clay reluctantly signed himself up for yet more debt. The Jag shot out of his driveway like a race car.

A dark cloud seemed to follow Clay at every turn. It was Valentine's Day and there was little joy in his heart. Once again, he peered into his wallet. He removed the yellow sticky note from behind his Halifax debit card. On the back of the sticky note was Nefertiti's address—the Brampton Estates. A cold chill darted down Clay's spine as he glanced at it. His superstitious perception of the mysterious estate took a backseat to his desperation. He was committed. He walked back into his home.

"Yes, I would like a taxi within the hour. Do you have any available?"

"Sure, we're a bit slow at the moment. Where would you take to be dropped off?"

"Ah, uhm...the Brampton Estates."

"Wait one moment, please," the dispatcher replied. After a short delay, she came back on the line. "I'm sorry. We're all booked up at the moment. Try Steve's Taxis, I'm sure they can help. Goodbye."

Click.

After numerous unsuccessful attempts to hire a taxi using his best English accent, Clay managed to book the journey. Initially, he believed it was a form of anti-American discrimination. It wasn't—it was a different type of trepidation, fear of the paranormal. A red taxi arrived on time and greeted Clay at the door.

The pair set off.

"I imagine you made several calls to the competition to book this journey," the driver commented in a heavy Slavic accent.

"Yeah, I almost gave up. I'm surprised you took the job, no one else wanted it. I detect an Eastern European accent. Where are you from?"

"I'm from Poland, but I speak Russian too. Do you speak foreign languages?"

"No, I don't."

"Have you ever visited Poland?"

"Never."

"Last question. Are you a Christian?" Clay asked.

The driver glanced at Clay in the rearview mirror. "How'd you know?"

"The wallpaper on your mobile phone is a picture of Jesus," Clay commented.

"Well, I gave the first thirty-five years of my life to the devil, so I decided to give the second half of my life to God. It saved my marriage, you know. Remember this, Jesus will never fail you."

Clay immediately broke eye contact from the rearview mirror. He looked out the window and remained silent.

As they drew nearer to the estate, his anxiety grew. His palms were sweaty and his heart rate was slightly elevated.

The driver stopped about a hundred yards from the entrance of the estate. He stopped the meter.

"This is as far as I go, mate. That will be 10.40, please."

Clay was not impressed having to walk about a quarter mile into the estate. "Hmm, most Christians I know don't believe in the supernatural," he commented.

The driver turned around to address Clay. "The Bible teaches us not to tempt God. Well...I don't tempt spirits either. I stay out of their way. If you need a ride back, here's my number. I'll meet you at the Frost Garden Centre across the street. God bless you, my friend."

Clay waved goodbye to the driver, who did a U-turn and backtracked. He ignored the warning voices in his head as flashbacks of Kevin's persuasive sales pitch to make the appointment with Nefertiti played on a loop in Clay's mind.

As he entered the macabre manor, there were several observations to include an intense feeling of being watched by the trees as he passed them. The trees had patterns in their bark that resembled faces, sad and tortured faces.

As he passed each house, he had the same thought. _Was this the house where the murders happened?_ Clay drew nearer to the address, feeling even more anxious, but he never thought of turning back.

There were large overgrown fields that had once been parks, but there was no sign of animal life with the exception of a large blackbird perched on the powerlines overhead. The bird extended its large wings and swooped in Clay's direction.

_Caw, caw, caw._ The crow sounded in midflight. It was as though the crow was leading Clay to the house. Clay extended his stride and increased his pace as he grew wary of the large black bird. As Clay approached his destination he noticed the crow had disappeared.

Clay found himself in the blowing wind, standing in front of the house. It was a two-story red brick home from the 1960s. There were no lights on anywhere, but the door was slightly ajar.

"Hello, is anyone home?"

After several knocks on the door, Clay heard footsteps coming from the back of the house. He took a few steps back; he wanted to run but he couldn't. Anticipation and fear of the unknown overwhelmed him, until a soft voice spoke.

"Come inside. I've been expecting you."

Although the house was cloaked in darkness, the woman's voice soothed Clay's apprehension. He entered cautiously.

"I can't see."

Hiss! Hiss!

"Ouch! Damn," Clay shrieked. "I think your cat just scratched me. Please, can you turn on the lights?"

_Click_.

The light nearly blinded Clay. He blocked the brightness with his hands. A woman in dark sunglasses sat in a recliner in the living room. Dated furniture mostly covered in plastic sheets filled each room. Spiderwebs, large dust balls and the smell of mothballs seemed to indicate the home was uninhabited.

Clay had imagined Nefertiti to be a frail old woman with no teeth. She was not.

"I was expecting you to be much older," Clay responded nervously.

"Sit down. Does my beauty intimidate you?"

Nefertiti wore a silky black smock that was sheer, almost see-through. A gold chain draped across her womanly hips. Her skin was an olive complexion complemented by her high cheekbones and heart-shaped face. With her dark eyeliner and flowing jet-black hair, she resembled an Egyptian goddess.

Clay felt an intense seductive aura radiating from her. He sat opposite her in an antique wooden chair.

"Why do you sit in darkness? And why are you wearing sunglasses in the dark?"

The woman smiled at Clay seductively. "I have no use for the light. The light is for the lost."

She removed her sunglasses.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know," Clay responded.

"Although my eyes may be cloudy, I see very clearly," she said assertively.

Clay checked his phone to see the time as he did not want to leave under darkness. He noticed he had no signal, which added to his anxiety.

"You said you were expecting me. I'm confused."

"You are the last referral of one of my clients," Nefertiti explained. "His debt to me is finished. You are Clay, and you are right on time."

"Time? How do you keep track of time?" Clay asked.

"Time? Time is only important to mortal men," she responded ethereally. "It has little relevance to entities which are eternal," she revealed.

"Okay, let me explain why I'm here," Clay said nervously.

"I know why you are here," she interrupted. "You are here because your faith has failed you," she said in a sultry voice.

Clay countered. "No, I'm here because my wallet has failed me. My faith is fine."

"Don't you think it strange that we both find ourselves alone together on Valentine's Day? I can see your heart is already claimed, yet your soul roams in the lost and found."

Clay felt threatened by her dark charm and seductive patter.

"No, I don't think it's strange. I just happened to be the day before my psychological assessment. Can I ask you a question?"

She nodded.

"Your name, Nefertiti. It's definitely not English. Where are you from?"

She stood and walked toward a large portrait covered by bedsheets.

"I'm not from here. I live in the hearts and minds of men like you, Clay."

Clay felt the initial assault of spiritual warfare. Yet once again, he ignored the voices in his head telling him to leave immediately.

"There's a voice that's telling me to run far away. But I can't. I don't want to. It's so strange," Clay confessed.

Nefertiti whisked the sheets from the portrait.

Clay stood, mildly shocked. "My God, she bears an uncanny likeness to you. She's absolutely stunning. But it can't be you. This portrait looks like it's from the late eighteen hundreds. Is this an ancestor?" Clay marveled.

"No."

Clay was spellbound by the portrait of timeless beauty. It was a nude painting of a woman lying on a red velour Victorian couch with a black cat by her feet. The resemblance was striking, and the portrait's gaze followed the onlooker from every angle.

She smiled and grabbed Clay's hand.

"So who are you? What are you?" Clay asked.

"I'm whatever you need me to be," she whispered into his ear.

Her voice permeated Clay's inner core. The seduction had begun.

"So tell me what are you thinking, Clay."

"Nothing, nothing at all," he answered defensively.

"Liar! I know what you are thinking. You are wondering if I'm wearing anything underneath this sheer garment."

"No, I'm not," he recoiled.

"Admit it. You want to force yourself upon me and take me. You want to spill your seed inside of me. Say it!"

Immediately, Clay saw the vision she conjured in the next room. He was mesmerized and consumed with lust watching it.

Clay covered his ears and shook his head violently. "Get out of my head, please," he pleaded.

The vision faded. Nefertiti continued. "Ah, the nectar of lust is sweet. Guilt is a flawed emotion that serves no purpose. Sit down, Clay."

She reclaimed her seat opposite Clay.

"So what are you, some sort of witch or medium?"

"No." She placed her dark glasses on her face. "I may be sightless, but I see everything."

Clay managed to reinitiate eye contact.

"Like the future? Like what?"

Nefertiti clasped her hands in her lap. She closed her eyes and entered into a light trance.

"I can see the night watchman of your dreams is vigilant."

Clay was captivated.

"Yes. That's my brother. My brother Darryl," Clay said excitedly. He wanted more.

"He has a spirit name, which I shan't say. He is a fierce guardian in the spirit world."

Clay's captivation intensified. "Can you reach him?"

Nefertiti's charcoal-black eyes opened wide. "That is not allowed!"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry I asked."

The room grew quiet, but the silence was interrupted by a buzzing sound coming from the next room that grew louder and louder until it reached deafening levels.

Clay covered his ears. "What is that sound!" he yelled.

Nefertiti stood and beckoned Clay to follow her into the kitchen.

He obeyed her command.

She pointed to the corner where the wall met the ceiling. There were hundreds of bees swarming there.

"You see, the queen bee found herself trapped in the spider's web," she explained. "Her entire colony blindly followed her. The colony is lost because their queen has perished. The colony continues to congregate and grow, yet their leader lies in death. I call this behavior Christianity."

Her words sent shockwaves to Clay's spiritual consciousness.

Nefertiti turned towards Clay. "Have I upset you?" She stroked the side of Clay's face.

"There's a part of me that just wishes this was a dream so I could wake up."

"So how do you know this is not a dream?"

Clay retreated into the living room and sat. "If this were a dream, my brother Darryl would be here to guide me out of this...whatever this is," he reflected.

"Okay, how much is this gonna cost me? I don't have much money."

Nefertiti knelt in front of Clay.

"Just your loyalty. And I require two referrals. I will deliver, and I demand you do the same."

"Can you guarantee my financial problems will go away and that I can keep my house?"

She nodded. "Just sign this contract."

Clay examined the two-sentence agreement on faded yellow paper.

"Contract? How is this binding?"

"Believe me, it is," she assured him.

Clay felt the spiritual battle inside of him intensifying as he removed a pen from his shirt pocket. His hand shook violently as he scribbled his name.

"Okay, so what now?"

Nefertiti smiled. "It is done. When you have your interview tomorrow, I will be with you," she assured him.

"You don't understand, you can't be there. I have to do this alone."

She kissed Clay on the side of his face. "I will be there. Leave early—there are opposing forces at hand," she whispered in his ear.

A gust of window flung the front door open, startling Clay. He was pleased to see his temptress lead him to the front door. The door closed behind him, the house went dark.

As Clay walked through the bristling wind, he noticed the sun beginning to set. He completely lost track of time. Immediately upon exiting the estate, guilt and betrayal crept into his consciousness in a major way.

"What have I done? I'm sorry for not trusting you and being disobedient. Lord, please forgive me."

A strange man approached Clay in front of the estate. He looked unkempt, disheveled and broken. He had a cigarette dangling out the corner of his mouth.

"Hiya, matey. I'm not from around here, but I'm looking for this address." He presented Clay with a scrunched-up piece of paper.

Clay looked at the man and saw a reflection of himself just hours before, desperate and distressed. Clay pointed to the house he'd just come from.

"Yeah, I know where it is. It's over there. The last house on the left."

### Chapter 7: The Assessment

Psychological Testing Centre

Harley Street, London

The Next Day 11:30 a.m.

"Good morning. I'm Clay Thompson, and I have an appointment with Dr. Kaspersky."

A young receptionist of African descent greeted Clay with a smile. "Mr. Thompson, I spoke with you on the phone the other day. You're the American from Huntingdon."

"Yes, that's me. Is everything alright?"

The receptionist handed Clay a sign-in sheet.

"Yes, everything is fine, it's just that we thought you might miss your appointment. I guess you haven't heard the news."

Clay scribbled his name and returned the clipboard.

"What news?"

She pointed to the flat-screen monitor in the waiting room.

BBC News reporting to you live. We've just received word that the bomb threat at Kings Cross was not a hoax. A Metropolitan Police bomb disposal squad diffused a small pipe bomb near platform nine just moments ago. Normal operations are expected to resume later this afternoon. So far, no group has claimed responsibility. Back to you at the studio.

"Mr. Thompson. Mr. Thompson, are you okay?"

Clay was in midflashback, replaying Nefertiti's warning.

"I'm sorry, just got distracted a bit. I must have just missed all the excitement. It's a good thing I decided to catch the early train."

Clay was numb inside from news of the bomb scare but also from his anxiety about having to fabricate PTSD symptoms to a trained professional. He had nothing to go on. He worried he would be found out and exposed as a fraud, but he was too committed to turn back.

"Not to worry, I'll let Dr. Kaspersky know you've made it. She won't be long, she's just finishing up paperwork from her last appointment. Please take a seat."

_I've never been a good liar. I'm going to blow this, I just know it_ , Clay thought. He fixated on the news to switch mental channels. It failed. It only intensified his anxiousness.

At exactly 11:30, a woman in her midseventies approached the reception desk and whispered a few words to the attendant. She looked stern, like a secondary school headmistress waiting to discipline one of her wayward students. She never smiled. She wore a white practitioner's smock and looked over her bifocals in Clay's direction.

"Mr. Thompson? Mr. Thompson?" she called out with clipboard in hand.

Too late now, time to face the music.

Clay stood. "Ah, that's me."

She was authoritative and cold. "Let's go. Follow me, please."

Clay followed his judge, jury and executioner to her sterile office with one workstation and two chairs opposite each other. The temperature was slightly cold which Clay found uncomfortable.

"Sit, please."

Dr. Kaspersky sat down and flipped through Clay's medical records provided to her by the Veteran's Affairs office. She also had a copy of his DD 214, which captured his military deployments.

Clay's throat was dry, so he asked for some water.

"If you must. The water fountain is to your left next to the lift," she moaned.

Clay immediately detected the unpleasantness in her voice. He promptly excused himself and made a quick dash. The sight of the exit door was tempting. He could make a run for it and would never have to explain anything to anyone. But that would not solve his financial woes. He needed an Oscar-winning performance during his psych exam, but he wasn't up to the job, and he knew it.

He returned.

"Mr. Thompson, are you aware of the magnitude of fraud among veterans claiming to be victims of PTSD?"

"No."

"It seems the VA has set the bar low for granting service-connected disabilities, unlike here in the UK where the threshold is very high. In the rare instance when I find genuine PTSD, I find therapy, not compensation, is the remedy. If you are financially compensated for a stress-related condition where is the incentive to seek proper counselling and resolution? Wouldn't you agree?"

"You're the expert, Doc. I really wouldn't know."

Clay's familiarity offended his assessor.

She swung around slowly in her chair. "Mr. Thompson, I would very much prefer it if you did not call me 'Doc.' That's slang and I never found much use for it. Do we have an understanding?"

Clay seemed to unintentionally irritate her at almost every opportunity. Clay was profusely apologetic.

Dr. Kaspersky took one last look at Clay's records and placed the file on her keyboard.

"I've reviewed the disorders you are claiming as they relate to PTSD. Are you ready to begin?"

Clay nodded nervously.

Dr. Kaspersky recited the symptoms Clay had checked on the worksheet. He saw her mouth moving, but her words just ran together. It was if she was talking in slow motion with the volume just above mute. Clay drifted into a fog, an altered state.

Dr. Kaspersky was put off by Clay's aloofness. She aggressively snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention.

"Mr. Thompson. Mr. Thompson! I need you to be present with me during this interview. If you'd like we can terminate this right now. I have other clients waiting."

Suddenly, an enormous black crow appeared on the window ledge. A few smaller crows appeared and perched, flanking the superior crow. The massive crow's charcoal black eyes fixated on Dr. Kaspersky through the glass. The large blackbird then extended its wings exposing a unique feature.

"Interesting. The crow's down feathers are pure white, they almost look pearlescent," Clay remarked.

Caw, caw, caw. The crows sounded in unison.

Dr. Kapsersky flapped her folder towards the crows.

"Shoo, shoo!" Dr. Kaspersky commanded.

The giant crow was the last to fly away. It displayed its magnificent markings one final time before vanishing into the sky.

"That's rather odd, I've never seen a flock of crows on my window ledge before," Dr. Kaspersky commented.

Clay clasped his hands on his lap. "You mean a murder of crows, Dr. Kaspersky," Clay corrected.

"Pardon me?"

Clay explained. "There are dozens of nouns for the gathering of different types of birds. Geese gather in a gaggle, hens in a brood. But a gathering of crows is called a murder."

Clay sat upright and was aware of a surging confidence within, a confidence from an uninvited spirit.

Dr. Kaspersky immediately noticed a change in his demeanor and a piercing level of eye contact she was not accustomed to.

"In your own words, Mr. Thompson, please describe your symptoms."

Clay paused, waiting for the words to come.

"Dr. Kaspersky, I first noticed these symptoms upon my redeployment from Mogadishu, Somalia, where I supported Operation Restore Hope. Our mission was humanitarian relief, but it quickly escalated to combat conditions when a warlord withdrew from our cease-fire agreement."

"At any time did you fear for your life?"

"Yes, many times. But two significant events remained etched in my psyche."

"Please explain."

"On January seventh, our Humvee was separated from our convoy, and we found ourselves surrounded by insurgents. We were ordered to exit our vehicles without our weapons with our hands held high. Our sub-team commander had a panic attack and begged for his life on his knees. I thought I would die as the AKs were pointed directly at us. For whatever reason, we were spared and allowed to carry on."

Dr. Kaspersky took copious notes.

"And the other significant event?"

Clay let out a big sigh and stared at the opaque window behind her.

"I'd rather not talk about it, Dr. Kaspersky."

"Mr. Thompson, withholding information may affect your claim. I need all the data before me, so I can make an informed decision."

Clay leaned just a little closer to his assessor.

"Dr. Kaspersky, for me, resolution is far more desirable than compensation. If I am not emotionally prepared to discuss certain mental or psychological issues, I would hope you would respect that."

Clay continued his deposition. "Since my redeployment from Mogadishu, I started noticing a series of maladaptive behaviors and physical ailments, especially during times of stress or anxiety."

"Please elaborate."

"The first issue I observed was my preoccupation with sex. I would ruminate on sex for hours during the workday. I would visualize having sex with complete strangers regardless of their appeal, age or marital status. During times of stress, I find myself insatiable and unable to curb my sexual appetite."

The more Clay spoke, the more he convinced himself. He seemed to relive fabricated accounts of experiences and describe symptoms he knew nothing of. He delivered with emotion and persuasiveness.

Dr. Kaspersky found herself unable to maintain prolonged eye contact with Clay. She swiveled slightly away from Clay and positioned her legs underneath the desk.

Clay continued. "Secondly, during heightened periods of stress, I often suffer from shortness of breath. The best way to describe this condition is...it's like breathing through a kinked straw underwater. You feel like your heart is going to explode in your chest. When this happens, I resort to breathing exercises, but it doesn't work all the time. On at least two occasions, I had to call 911."

"I've read your military and civilian medical records cover to cover and there is no entry to support this," she challenged. "And I think you meant you dialed 999. This is England, not the States," she asserted.

"The incidents I'm referring to happened in the US. In early April, 2014, while I was at a conference in Quantico, Virginia, and also in Chicago, Illinois, while I was on leave last year. On both occasions, my medical records were not in my possession. You're right, Dr. Kaspersky, we do dial 911 in the States."

The intensity in Clay's voice became more commanding as the office atmosphere grew to resemble a courtroom more closely than a doctor-patient interview.

Despite the tense environment, Clay continued to remain in character. "Stress also sometimes triggers an outbreak on my right hip area. It's a weeping cluster of blisters that can last up to seven days. As of late, the blisters have spread to other areas of my torso depending upon the stress level I'm experiencing."

"Alright, Mr. Thompson. Now let's talk about your nightmares, shall we?"

"What would you like to know?"

"Tell me everything, from the beginning."

Clay folded his arms and exhaled. He recounted. "At first, I thought it was a side effect from the malaria pills. The nightmares were so intense I ceased taking them midway through my deployment. I wasn't the only one, a lot of us did. Since my deployment, I began having reoccurring nightmares and daytime hallucinations."

"Do you sometimes suffer from loss of sleep?"

"Yes, I feel the effects mostly when I'm driving home from work. That's when it hits me. Sometimes, I find myself doing all I can just to stay alert."

"These reoccurring nightmares and hallucinations, are they related in any way?"

"I can't say. My nightmares are of a classmate who tormented me in the second grade; his name was Aaron."

"You misspoke. You mean his name is Aaron," she responded condescendingly.

"No. His name was Aaron. He's dead now. Killed in a car accident at the age of eight. My nightmares are very violent causing me to awaken just before impending doom. On the other hand, my hallucinations are not scary, just heartbreaking. I see lifelike visions of my older brother Darryl, who died when I was only nine. I see him on his deathbed in an empty hospital room. The light in the room is an amber color and it flickers on and off. That's about it, really."

"Your nightmares of bullying could be linked to the fear of being harmed on the battlefield. Your hallucinations of your deceased brother might be related to the guilt of surviving and making it home when others did not. The other hypothesis is that these issues are latent, predating your military service."

After hearing Clay's emotional depictions of living a life riddled with debilitating conditions, Dr. Kaspersky excused herself and reviewed her notes in private.

Clay was impressed by his ability to mix fact and fiction so effortlessly. He waited patiently for Dr. Kaspersky's return, prepared to high-five himself in his mind for his compelling performance. However, Dr. Kaspersky was on the fence and not immediately ready to provide the assessment Clay required.

She returned. Clay waited in anticipation for the verdict.

"Mr. Thompson, I'm still undecided as to how I should assess your claims. Making the service connection is so speculative. I tend to err on the side of other competing factors, such as inner child sensitizing events. From my experience, those are the deepest cuts and often may manifest themselves later in life. I don't think I will be able to grant you a favorable assessment. My biggest issue is there is no documentation of these issues in your medical history. Why is that?"

Clay became enraged, fueled by a malevolent inner spirit that consumed him. The spirit had a name....Nefertiti.

"During my time in the Marines, I possessed a Top Secret security clearance. Any misperceptions of mental health fitness would have placed my career in jeopardy. It was a conscious decision," he responded with an uncanny calm despite the fury within.

"However, I understand and respect your professional opinion," he continued. "Like I said, this was never about compensation. I guess we are done here?"

Clay stood and smiled, seething with rage. His mission was unfulfilled.

The hardness of her heart and lack of compassion seemed to be unyielding.

Clay had one last parting remark. "Excuse me, Dr. Kaspersky."

She adjusted her glasses and responded. "Yes?"

"I was just wondering if you were Polish by any chance."

Clay clearly captured her attention. She swiveled her chair toward him. "Yes, I was born in Warsaw and came here after the war when I was a little girl. Why do you ask?" she queried.

"Just curious. I spent a semester in Gdansk as an exchange student my senior year in a high school. _Ty mówisz połysk_?"

Dr. Kaspersky dropped her pen on the floor. It rolled and stopped at Clay's feet. A tear fell and rolled down her white smock. Her voice quivered and she spoke in an almost childlike voice.

"Yes, I speak Polish." More tears continued to flow. She stood and steadied herself, leaning on the desk for support.

Clay realized she was overcome by emotion. "Dr. Kaspersky, are you unwell?"

She pointed at Clay. "That's not possible. That's not possible," she pleaded. "The dialect you speak. It is the dialect of my grandfather who disappeared during the war," she explained tearfully. "He protected me and my mother from the Germans. My father was executed for collaborating with the Russians. My mother and I lived in my grandfather's basement for almost a year in hiding. Then he sold his house so that we could find safe passage to England. When I hear you speak, I can feel him in my heart. Forgive me for my tears. How is it that you speak without an accent? That is extraordinary."

" _Mój adiunkt uczył ja dobrze_ ," Clay responded.

Dr. Kaspersky sat on the floor and wept silently. "But that is impossible; you speak like a native. You speak perfect Kashubian."

Clay reached for a box of Kleenex and handed her a tissue. He knelt beside her and helped her stand.

"I am sorry about your grandfather. It seems he was a very brave man," Clay said with compassion.

"I don't know if he survived or not. I never saw him again after we fled. I hear his voice when you speak. Thank you, Mr. Thompson. Thank you for bringing back all the wonderful memories that I've suppressed over so many years."

### Chapter 8: The Fine Print

Nandos Restaurant

Later That Day

"What is your table number, sir?"

"It's thirty-two. Here's my loyalty card. I hope I have enough points for a dinner for two."

The friendly waitress scanned Clay's card. She politely returned it to him.

"Yes. You have enough chillies for two mains and two sides. After today your points will be reset to zero. Is that alright?"

Clay was relieved. After his order, he returned to his assigned booth. Claire had only just arrived.

"Clay you had me so worried. I've been trying to contact you for hours, but your phone is switched off."

"I had my psych exam today, remember? I turned it off during the interview."

Claire was interested in how the interview went.

"So, did they assess your heart condition?" she joked.

"Yes, there's a warrant out for whoever stole it," Clay said in jest.

Clay and Claire had to elevate their voices slightly as there were many celebrations on at the same time around them.

"When I heard there was a bomb on platform nine, I panicked. I heard they ceased operations for most of the morning. I'm surprised you even made it to Kings Cross."

"Well, it's a good thing I took an early train."

"The media thinks it was ISIS," Claire added.

Clay slumped in the booth. He was aware of a negative energy that began to stir inside of him.

"Well, they say one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter."

Claire was put off by Clay's remarks and it showed in her terse response.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, since 9/11, we've been demanding that these zealots go back to where they came from. And now that they've heeded the call, it's not good enough, and we bomb them there. You've got to see things from their perspective as well as ours."

Claire had strong opinions on terrorism and she wasn't swayed. She was angry.

"Clay, they aren't zealots. They are terrorists and they slaughter innocent people, including other Muslims. I don't believe I'm hearing this from you. What about your Marine buddy—what's his name? The guy they killed in a suicide attack in Iraq."

Clay felt the tension in Claire's tone, and instead of deescalating, he went on defense.

"You mean Hash Brown. He was killed by al-Qaida, not ISIS."

Claire grew even angrier. "ISIS, al-Qaida, it's the same thing!" she shouted over the crowd.

Clay caught himself. He was out of line for no apparent reason and apologized repeatedly to Claire.

"Baby, I don't know what just came over me. I'm so sorry. It's been a rough day. Do you forgive me?"

Clay's smile eased her frustration somewhat but feelings of apprehension lingered before eventually fading.

"I forgive you. But I'm still mad at you, just a little bit."

During the meal, Claire told Clay all about her day at work. Clay seemed present, but his eyes wandered throughout the restaurant.

After the pair finished their meal, a large, friendly waitress asked if she could clear the table. Clay stood to help stack the plates.

The woman immediately blushed and put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, dear."

"What's wrong?"

Claire's eyes widened. "Clay, sit down please, right now?"

The waitress quickly collected the plates and hurried off.

"Clay, what is wrong with you?" Claire whispered to Clay.

Clay was completely unaware. "What do you mean, babe?"

She pointed towards Clay's trousers.

"Oh, shoot. Is it that noticeable?" Clay asked, embarrassed.

Claire gave a big nod. "Clay, I love the fact that you are so turned on by me, but you need to put it away before we get arrested." She laughed.

Clay's embarrassment was short-lived. Claire was right; he was extremely turned on by her. But there were others that he lusted for nearby. There were the twin girls celebrating their eighteenth birthday, the mature blonde celebrating her fortieth wedding anniversary with her husband, and the plus-sized waitress that had served them.

**Operator:** "999, what is your emergency?"

**Claire:** "I need an ambulance right away, please. I'm at 132 Butterfield Close in Stukeley Meadows. It's my boyfriend!"

**Operator:** "I need you to calm down, ma'am. What is the nature of the emergency?"

**Claire:** "He's not breathing. He's turning gray. Somebody help him, please!"

**Operator:** "Ma'am, do you know CPR?"

**Claire:** "No, I don't know CPR! Just get someone here quick before, before..."

**Operator:** "Ma'am, we don't have an ambulance that can respond quickly enough. What part of the house is he?"

**Claire:** "Why does that matter? We're in the kitchen. I don't believe this! He doesn't have much time!"

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

**Claire:** "Oh my God, there is someone at the door trying to get in! Can you hear that? What do I do?"

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

**Operator:** Let her in. She's an off-duty paramedic and she lives across from you. Her name is Liz Sinclair.

Hinchingbrook Hospital

"Ma'am, are you related to the patient?"

"No, I'm not. He's my partner."

"Alright, are you the one that called 999?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I will need to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?"

"Sure. Is he going to be okay?"

"Ma'am, we will know more once the doctors complete their assessment."

Claire was emotionally and mentally exhausted. She composed herself for the interview with a member of staff.

"Start from the very beginning and tell me the sequence of events, please."

Claire hesitated. "Okay, do you want the adult version?"

The nurse nodded.

Claire was extremely embarrassed. "We were making love and all of a sudden he started gasping for air."

The nurse interrupted. "Hold on, the 999 report says they found him in the kitchen, unresponsive. How did he get from the bedroom to the kitchen?"

Claire was more embarrassed. "I never said we were in the bedroom," she clarified.

"Oh! Continue, then."

"Okay, where was I? I remember. I knew he was gasping for air, but I interpreted that as something else, you understand?"

"Clearly."

"It wasn't until I saw a permanent glazed look in his eye that I realized something was terribly wrong. That's when I called 999. We were so lucky to have an off-duty paramedic as a neighbor."

"Some call it luck; others call it God watching over us," the nurse asserted.

***

Claire waited patiently for hours in visitor's area, pacing the floor.

Clay's doctor waved to Claire from the reception desk.

"Good evening, I'm Doctor Kendrick, and not to worry, he's going to be just fine."

Claire was immediately relieved. A massive weight had been lifted.

"It seems Mr. Thompson had a panic attack that set off an asthma-like episode. Has he been under much stress lately?"

Claire nodded.

"You can see him now, he's asking for you."

Claire walked into the hospital room that Clay shared with three others. He had a nebulizer attached to his face and there were leads on his chest that monitored his heart rate. He was unable to talk but alert.

Claire kissed him on the cheek and sat next to him on the side of the bed. Clay's eyes were teary.

"What happened?" Clay scribbled on a piece of paper.

"You experienced shortness of breath while we were making love."

Clay's eyes rolled to the ceiling. "Are you serious?" he wrote.

Claire elaborated. "Oh, it gets worse. I panicked and called 999. Mrs. Sinclair resuscitated you."

"Not so bad," Clay wrote.

Claire smiled. "You were naked on the kitchen floor, spread eagle."

Clay's eyes widened like saucers.

"Did see she see my junk?" Clay wrote.

Claire giggled. "Yup."

"Oh, great. I can never look her in the eye again. It's a good thing I'm moving. "

Clay spent the night in the hospital for observation.

The next morning, Clay was notified that he had a visitor, someone anxious to see him. It wasn't Claire.

"Good morning, Mr. Thompson. A Captain Steward would like to see you. May I send him in?"

Clay sat up in his hospital bed and stretched.

"Mr. Thompson, how are you doing this morning?" the captain inquired.

"Doing much better. I should be out of here later this afternoon. How did you know I was here?"

"Oh, I live three doors down and I heard all the ruckus. I've been meaning to pay you a visit before this, but I'm going on leave soon and thought I'd speak to you before I left."

"Speak to me? About what?"

The captain stood by Clay's side and exhaled.

"Well, I'm separating from the Marines this summer because I got passed over for promotion. So basically I'm getting my walking papers."

"So, why do you want to talk to me?"

"I'm applying for my VA disability and I was told that you have the hookup, that you know someone, a woman. I've got a buddy who's in the same boat as me."

Clay covered his face with his hands. He was mildly disturbed.

"What do you want?"

"Well, I heard she's pretty hot," the captain joked.

Clay sighed in disgust. "Oh, she's hot, alright. Hot as hell, I'd say."

"How much does it cost?" the captain asked.

Clay mustered enough energy to offer a flippant response.

"How much does it cost? I don't know, I'm still paying."

***

Claire took the afternoon off to take Clay home from the hospital. He spent a lot of time deep in thought about the challenges that lay ahead. He desperately wanted to confide in Claire about his experience on the Brampton Estates, but he feared losing her respect.

"Mr. Thompson, your ride has arrived. She's in the waiting room. Shall I send her in?"

Clay was relieved. He counted down the minutes until his discharge from the hospital.

"Hi, Clay. How's my man this morning? I brought something for you."

Claire placed an overnight bag on Clay's bed and stole a kiss.

"You came here covered up in a bedsheet, so I decided to go home and get you some clothes to wear home."

"Thanks, sweetheart. I'm so sorry that you had to endure this drama. I know it must have tough. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you being there for me."

Claire also came bearing gifts. "Clay, while I was at your house I signed for a recorded delivery letter. It's from the Department of Veterans Affairs."

Clay suspected it might be his determination of eligibility, if any, to disability. He asked Claire to open it.

Claire read the pertinent information aloud.

Dear Mr. Thompson,

Per the findings and recommendation of Dr. Kaspersky, the VA has awarded you the maximum VA rating for your claims based on the occupational and social impairment. Your rating is assessed at 60 percent, which entitles you to concurrent payment in addition to your military retirement. Your compensation has been backdated to the date of filing on November 16, 2015. Please see the enclosed check.

"Well, how much is it, sweetheart?" Clay asked.

Claire's lips parted and her eyes lit up with the check in her hand.

"Clay, this is the answer you've been praying for. Here, you look at it."

"Wow! Thirty-five grand. Looks like I'll be able to keep my house! Thank you, Lord! Let's get out of this place. We have some celebrating to do. And some earrings to buy," Clay exclaimed.

Clay hugged Claire and leaped out of bed to get dressed. He was more than ready to start fresh. After being let down with a twenty-grand check he could not cash, this was redemption.

Just before Clay signed his discharge papers, Doctor Kendrick paged him.

Clay was annoyed at having to backtrack and meet with his doctor. Claire waited in the lobby.

"Mr. Thompson, please take a seat."

"Uh-oh. This doesn't sound good. I thought you said it was a panic attack and that I just needed to take it easy. I can do that," Clay assured.

"I'd like you to stay for a few more hours so I can run some tests."

Clay was defiant. "A few more hours? It was just stress, that's all."

The doctor shook his head. He had another concern. "Mr. Thompson, please lift up your shirt."

Clay obliged.

The doctor pointed to an area on the right side of Clay's lower back. "Right there. You can't see it without a mirror, but there is a nasty lesion that has just started to manifest. It's already starting to weep. We need to do a biopsy to make sure it's nothing sinister. We should know something by the end of the week."

Clay's celebratory mood faded quickly. He was fully aware there were forces greater than himself at work. He felt compelled to break the news to Claire, but he was conflicted.

Clay showed Claire the lesion in private. She was shocked at its nasty appearance and rapid progression in such a short time. Claire was distraught and slightly hysterical.

"Clay, what is going on with you? Just tell me," she pleaded.

Clay looked down to his feet, then shook his head in self-pity.

"I took out a loan that has bankrupted my soul. Now they've come to collect." Clay would never tell Claire about his visit.

### Chapter 9: The Harvest

A bright ray of light awakened Clay and Claire early on a Saturday morning. Clay was pleased to see Claire smiling back at him.

"I think I need to change the sheets, babe. I'm lying in a pool of sweat."

Claire noticed dampness on her side as well. Clay whisked the sheet back and wafted a horrible nasty odor. Claire detected the stench first.

"I think I'm going to be ill. What is that pongy smell?" _Cough, cough_. Claire's eyes started to water.

"I don't smell anything, but I'll crack the other window to get some fresh air."

Clay put on his boxers and tended to the window.

Claire was horrified.

"Clay! Clay!" she shrieked.

"What's the matter?"

"It's you. It's your back. The lower half is covered with oozing boils. You're leaking." Claire immediately ran to bathroom. She raised the toilet seat and buried her face into the basin with one hand on the handle.

Blech! Blargggg! Bleecccch!

Hinchingbrook Hospital

"Doc, I think I know what is wrong with me. This isn't just stress. It's more malevolent than that. This is some sort of curse of hex. I know it is."

Clay revealed his secret. "I've signed a pact with a dark spirit."

Doctor Kendrick responded with an assuring and comforting smile.

"Your test results were inconclusive, as we thought they might be. I consulted with our psychiatry department, and your symptoms are consistent with SSD, or Somatic Symptom Disorder."

Clay was slightly relieved, but not completely convinced.

"What is SSD? Am I going insane or something?"

"No, you are not going insane. SSD is an anxiety disorder. It's your mind, not a spirit inflicting ill upon the body. The distress you are experiencing is real, regardless of whether or not a physical explanation can be identified. These issues can also affect one's sexual behavior."

Clay stood. "That must be it, then; I think you hit the nail on the head. Everything you described is exactly what I'm experiencing. So I'm not cursed. I was so convinced I was. I'm so glad I met with you. This is great news. I can't believe I bought into that. Whew."

Doctor Kendrick concluded, "There is a biblical quote that I'd like to share with you that might help you process what SSD is. It's Proverbs 23:7. Are you familiar with that scripture?"

Clay nodded. "For as he thinks in his heart, so is he."

Clay was prescribed a mild dose of _Zanex_ to counteract his anxiety.

Halifax Bank

"Thank you, Mr. Thompson, for your deposit the other day. Now that we are current with your mortgage, we can renegotiate the loan to its former term of ten years. I'll send you an email notification later today. Just remember, before you enter any contractual agreement, you've got to read the small print. Some contracts are binding, with significant penalties if obligations are not met. Have a nice day."

Clay flashed backed to his encounter at the Brampton Estates. That same chill darted down his spine.

During the walk home, he embraced the notion of SSD as his diagnosis. He planned to take the medication as prescribed and follow the doctor's strict orders.

Clay was pleasantly surprised to see Claire's white Polo in the drive.

Claire was wearing her new eighteen-karat white gold earrings proudly.

"Clay, I bought you a new cufflink box to replace your old wooden one from the 1970s."

Clay was very appreciative of the gesture. However, Claire's next few words would turn his world upside down.

"I emptied the old box into the new one and I found this."

Clay did a double take. "Where did that come from? It wasn't in my old cufflink box. Give me that!" Clay demanded.

Claire realized Clay was incensed, but why?

"Calm down, Clay, it's a tooth. Looks like a child's tooth. It's yours, right?"

Clay paced the kitchen floor with his fist clenched. He opened the trash and threw the anxiety medication away.

"Why? Why is this happening to me?"

Clay had upset Claire and caused her to cry. "What did I do?"

Clay saw her standing in the middle of the kitchen, very confused and hurt. He put his arms around her.

Clay then opened his mouth and showed Claire the gap where he'd lost the tooth.

"I don't understand."

Clay was teary-eyed. "I lost this tooth when I was eight years old."

"Okay. So now I found it. What's the harm in that?"

Clay held the tooth and looked at it with pure contempt.

"Claire, I lost this tooth during a fight. It was removed from his leg by the school nurse. It was never given to me after that. He had it."

"Who?"

"Aaron. Aaron had it."

"I don't understand. Then how did it end up in your cufflink box?"

Clay broke his embrace and displayed a morbid smile.

"He's back. Aaron is back."

Clay was reminded of a conversation he'd had at the bank. He paraphrased it in his head: _You can't negotiate a new contract until you've met the obligations of the old one._

It made perfect sense. He needed to find two referrals to satisfy his debt. This was simple. Captain Steward was desperate and knew a buddy who was also interested. Clay was mad at himself for not thinking of it sooner. Maybe if he found her two people, his symptoms would go away.

Clay reached out to Captain Steward and set up a meeting at his house later in the week to discuss the matter. Clay was desperate and understood why Kevin had been so persuasive with him to make the appointment.

The Meeting

Clay's back was wrapped heavily with Ace bandages to absorb the heavy drainage. He'd also dusted off an inhaler that had been prescribed to him in the summer for allergies caused by hay fever.

Captain Steward and Major Fernandez were promptly at Clay's door at the precise time.

Clay overrode his conscience to make the sales pitch of his life. He desperately needed to remedy his personal situation. He printed off a copy of his latest bank statement and had the VA's letter on hand as proof of his success.

"The way I look at it, I was screwed," the captain told Clay. "I supported my sergeant for issuing a lieutenant colonel a DUI. I didn't know he was up for colonel, but it shouldn't have mattered. What's right is right. I've always backed up my troops when they were in the right. But I see where being principled got me—it got me tossed out on my ass. Ten years down the drain over a stupid ticket. Now, it's all about me. Time to get paid. They owe me."

Major Fernandez told a different story.

"I hit twenty years in the Marines next spring, and I could retire. But if I retire, then my soon-to-be ex-wife will get half of my retirement. She never worked a day in her life. Why should she get half? That is insane. But I did my research; I can forgo my retirement and claim disability. Her attorney can't go after my disability; that's all mine. My ex and her attorney can go to hell."

"Sign me up," Captain Steward insisted.

"Me, too!"

"So does she do house calls or do we come to her?"

"Ah, I don't think she does house calls," Clay responded, somewhat on edge.

"Is she a hypnotist or what? How does it work? What's her name again?"

Clay became immediately defensive.

"Don't say it," Clay warned.

Both officers took notice of Clay's change in demeanor.

"Say what?"

Clay stood. "Do not repeat her name in this house, please."

"You mean Nefertiti?" Major Fernandez laughed.

Clay exploded.

"Get out! Get out of my house, now!"

The two officers were completely shocked at Clay's meltdown.

"All I said was her name. What's the big deal?" the major asked.

Clay opened the door. "I asked you not to mention her name in this house! Why? Why would you do that? Go, the both of you. And for the record, stay away from her. You will regret it for the rest of your life and maybe even longer."

Clay spent hours on the computer as a distraction. Sometimes he played online card games and sometimes he indulged in his new addiction.

After spending most of the afternoon on the Internet, Clay decided to contact Kevin, who happened to be a friend on Facebook.

Clay accessed Kevin's page from his friend list. He was stunned at all the posts on his page. There were hundreds of recent posts over the last few days. All were condolences to his family. Apparently, Kevin had passed away in the last week.

Clay was in shock. He felt completely numb. He remembered just speaking to Kevin. Kevin had admitted to Clay that he was in perfect health.

Clay scoured his Facebook page to see if there was a mention of the cause of death. Nothing. Clay convinced himself that it was likely some sort of accident and nothing paranormal. But he had to know for sure.

Clay sent a text message to a colleague at the University and inquired.

He got a response.

Heart attack.

Clay recalled a conversation with Kevin.

"I get fourteen hundred dollars every month for...chest pains related to PTSD. They fell for that bullshit."

Clay then thought of Kevin's friend Tony, who had also vouched for the results.

Apparently, Tony had not shown up for work for over a week and had disappeared from the face of the earth.

Clay began to tie the events together and concluded that both Kevin and Tony had succumbed to spiritual warfare. Despite Kevin having kept his end of the contract by providing two referrals, he had still lost his life.

Clay realized the harvesting of souls had begun. There was nowhere to run; there was no escape. All of Clay's fabricated claims at the VA office had manifested, except one.

Clay knelt down in front of the sofa and pleaded for his life.

Please forgive me, Lord, for I've sinned. I don't want to die and go to hell. If it's not too late, please save me.

Clay and Claire were deciding on what movie to see at the cinema. Clay made his preference very clear.

"No more scary movies. I think I'm done with that, forever. Let me check my phone to see what's playing."

Clay couldn't find his phone anywhere.

"Clay, just call yourself on the landline. I'll go upstairs and listen for it."

Clay called his mobile from his home phone. He heard the phone ringing in the receiver.

Someone answered.

**Clay:** Hello? Who is this? Hello?

White noise.

**Other party:** Cough, cough, cough. Hello? Hello? I can't hear you. Sorry, this is a really bad connection. Whoever you are, thank you. You just saved my life.

Click.

Claire came downstairs to see if Clay had found his cell.

Clay froze in place, like a statute. He looked troubled.

"Hey, I didn't hear anything upstairs. Clay...? Clay! You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?"

Clay returned to a coherent state.

"I just called my cell phone and someone answered, someone under extreme duress."

"Who was it?"

"It was me."

### Chapter 10: Immortal Combat

"Clay, why are the keyboard and mouse so sticky? It's disgusting. It needs a good clean. Your computer so is slow," Claire complained.

Clay made a beeline to the computer to make sure he had closed down his browser and cleared his history.

"Sorry, It's probably motor oil. I was working on the car earlier. What are you Googling?"

Claire swiveled around in her chair.

"Clay, honey. There's a chance I could be pregnant. A tiny chance."

Clay dropped to a knee. He was pleased. Very pleased.

"Clay, I thought you might be upset. Why are you so happy?"

Clay placed his hands on her knees. "Because God doesn't make mistakes. This was meant to be. You're not going anywhere," he said.

Claire was much less enthusiastic. "Clay, if it's true, I'm gonna need you to be more steady and less moody. You're all over the place. And we need to get you on the mend, healthwise. I really think it's just stress. We have to calm you down somehow. I'm not sure a newborn is the remedy. Not to mention I'm in my late forties and you're midfifties. I need to check with the doctor to be sure."

"Together, we'll figure it out," Clay pledged.

The following week, Clay settled his debt with Huntingdon Jaguar Specialists. He retrieved his Rolex and was back in his vintage Jaguar. The lesions on his back flared up with a vengeance on occasion, but he managed to deal with it, mostly through a prescription of Zovirax and sizeable purchases of Ace bandages. Clay also had his prescription for Albuterol renewed for respiratory attacks. One inhaler remained in his car, and one on the nightstand. Claire had one in her purse at all times. He was somewhat assured that although his symptoms were inconvenient, they were not life-threatening.

During his last appointment at the hospital, Clay accidentally bumped into Tony. Clay almost didn't recognize him. He'd lost almost half of his body weight and was confined to a wheelchair. His caregiver whizzed him around the ward leaving a pungent odor that lingered. Clay wasn't able to see Tony that day due to personal commitments, but he returned the later in the week to find out what had happened to him.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm here to see Tony Barker. He's a patient here."

The nurse excused herself momentarily to consult with other staff charged with his care. She returned after a few minutes.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. He's being discharged today."

"Oh, that's great. I'm glad he's going home. He looked pretty bad yesterday. I'll drop by his office sometime next week and have a chat with him."

"Excuse me, sir, but Mr. Barker is not going home. He's being transported to Shannon Hospital up north."

"Shannon Hospital? Isn't that a mental institution?"

"It's a mental health facility. Since Mr. Barker has checked in, he hasn't spoken a single word to anyone, except himself. If you were close to him, I'm sorry."

Orchid Ward, Hinchingbrook Hospital

"Mr. Thompson, I have your X-rays posted. As you can see you have a broken eye socket, two bruised ribs and a lacerated cornea. Where did the attack occur?"

Clay was fading in and out of consciousness. He was punch-drunk from the morphine drip.

"In my bedroom," he slurred.

"Did you get a good look at the perpetrator?"

Clay tried to laugh, but it hurt.

"He's about four feet eleven, around ninety pounds and has red hair. Oh yeah, and he reeks of sour milk. If I see that little shit again, I'll bite the other leg. Damn second graders."

Clay planned to hide his injuries from Claire as best he could while she was in Cornwall for the week on business.

At one point, Clay believed he had cheated death with pharmacology. The Zovirax lessened the frequency of attacks, but the flare ups left his skin looking like flesh-colored bubble wrap.

But Clay was faced a more sinister threat. There was no pill to take or drug to ingest to remedy the paranormal.

Claire returned from her trip and arranged a dinner date at Clay's. She surprised Clay with a bag of groceries in one hand and a romantic card in the other. Clay was engaged in a call.

"Okay, Emily. I hear what you're saying. I would give you three chapters if I had three chapters. I got nothing. I have to be inspired, ya know. I promise you when I finally come up with a storyline it will hit the mark. Just need some time."

As Clay was concluding his call with his publisher, he heard a loud scream from Claire coming from the study.

"Clay! Clay! Come upstairs!"

Clay bolted like a track star to see what the problem was.

Claire was absolutely furious. She stood by the computer and pointed to the screen.

"Clay, I was trying to get on the computer, but the screen is locked. It says you have visited an illegal website and the Metropolitan Police are slapping you with a fine. You're watching porn, aren't you?"

Claire dropped to her knees and broke down in tears.

Clay tried to comfort Claire but she did not want to be touched. She forcefully pushed him away.

"Don't touch me until you explain," she demanded.

Clay had never seen Claire so upset and angry.

"Let me explain. This is a hoax to rip people off. Ukash is a cyberextortionist scam. Ever since I let my antivirus software expire, I've been infected with malware. I already called Andy, the IT guy, to clean my computer and update my Norton Antivirus. Don't worry; I have you, I don't need porn," Clay assured her.

Claire wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Clay, I feel like such a fool for not trusting you. I'm so sorry. Come here, baby."

Clay held Claire tight. He breathed a sigh of relief.

***

One week later, Clay read Tony's obituary in the local paper. Tony was only forty-two years old. Cause of death was not disclosed. Clay felt impending doom lurking. He knew it would be just a matter of time before Aaron would reappear to take his life. Clay wasn't ready to give up so easily. He was no longer afraid, he was pissed off.

Later in the week

While Clay was at a doctor's appointment, Claire let herself in and waited for his return.

_Knock, knock, knock_. "Hi, it's me, Andy, the IT guy. I have Clay's computer."

Claire greeted her visitor at the door. "Sorry, Clay isn't here at the moment, but he'll be back later," Claire said.

"No worries, I'll set up the computer for him, so it's all ready to go when he gets back. I'll circle back later for payment. Is that okay?"

Claire obliged and let Andy in. Within ten minutes Andy was firing up the computer.

"All done, now. I'll be on my way," he said.

Claire stopped Andy before he made it out the door. "Excuse me, Andy. What was the problem with the computer?"

"Well, I've seen worse cases, but this one was pretty bad. Lots of malware."

"What is Ukash?" Claire asked. She braced herself for the worst.

"Ukash. That's the biggest scam around. Many of my clients paid good money thinking it was legit. It's a complete scam."

Andy continued, "One reason why his computer was running so slow was Clay had all his movies on the hard drive."

"What movies?"

"I don't know; I just moved them all onto a memory stick to optimize efficiency. I inserted the memory stick into the USB port; he can't miss it."

Claire had one more question. "How much time does he have on his antivirus software?"

"He's got plenty of time. He purchased the three-year option just a few months ago... Excuse me, Miss. Are you alright? Can I get you a tissue? Miss?"

Date Night

Voice mail message from Clay: _"Hey, babe. Just got in a few minutes ago. I've booked a table at Nandos for six thirty. Give me a call when you get this message."_

Clay was disappointed to come back to an empty house. He had spent the day in London and expected to see Claire that Friday night at his house.

After thirty minutes of waiting with no response, Clay became a permanent fixture in the window, looking for Claire's white Polo.

Clay watched the BBC News to distract himself. After the first commercial break, the notion of trying to avoid thinking about Claire only made it worse.

Click.

Upon turning the television off, Clay heard a woman's voice coming from the study. It was a faint voice. He didn't feel threatened by the voice. The voice was soothing.

Clay crept up the stairs to investigate. The door to the study was closed, and the woman's voice grew louder.

Clay pushed the door open with both hands.

He wasn't scared, he was mortified.

The woman's voice was that of his favorite porn star, Kay Parker, in the throws of passion on his computer screen.

Clay panicked. He saw his whole world hanging by a thread. Clay realized he was caught out in a lie, a huge lie given Claire's disdain for porn. He frantically dialed Claire's cell. No answer. He dialed the number thirty-two more times, with the same result.

He wondered how she'd cracked the password to his hidden folder. It seemed impossible.

The only way to properly address the situation was to drive to her house. Clay could feel the blisters forming on his back, soaking his shirt. He took four hits from his inhaler to restore his breathing, which spun out of control. He was a complete mess and lost without his girl.

Clay sat parked in her drive for five long hours. He fell asleep with his inhaler in hand.

Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz

Clay was awakened by his cell going off. He was relieved because only Claire would be calling him at such a late hour. He braced himself for a serious ass-chewing, but he knew he deserved it.

"Hi, Claire. I'm so sorry. Please let me make it up to you. I need to be with you. Life sucks when you're not in it," Clay begged and pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Thompson, but this is the Huntingdon Police Department."

"What?" Clay was gutted. "Police department? Why on earth are you calling me this late at night?"

"Sir, sorry to call so late, but your silent alarm was activated about ten minutes ago. There is activity in your guest bedroom. We sent a car over there, but there were no signs of forced entry. It's probably a false alarm. If everything is in order when you get home, please notify us. Enjoy the rest of your night."

Clay knew exactly what the score was. This was not a matter for the police; it was a spiritual vendetta that needed to be settled. Clay's heartache over Claire morphed into a raging fury. His adrenaline pumped rapidly through his veins. He was on a mission, but he needed help, spiritual armor. He prayed a fervent prayer with his forehead pressed against the steering wheel.

"Dear Lord. I am just a lowly servant, and I am nothing without you. Please give me the strength to beat the shit out of that little asshole. Amen."

Completely unhinged, Clay burned rubber out of Claire's drive and raced home.

He opened the door with brute force, causing the doorknob to make an indentation in the wall. Clay was in overdrive, fueled with a vengeance.

As he stood in the doorway, he was momentarily distracted by a lone bee caught in a web in the ceiling corner. Within seconds, hundreds of bees descended on the web to sting the spider and rescue the distressed bee.

Clay covered his eyes and ran through the dense swarm of bees, heading to the kitchen. He removed a large knife from the large utensil rack. The deafening sound of the buzzing of bees only made Clay angrier and more determined to end the forty-year-old feud.

Clay raised the large knife.

"Olly olly oxen free, you little piece of shit!," he challenged his nemesis. "This ends tonight, you son of a bitch."

Clay waded through the buzzing swarm of bees and marched upstairs to the guest bedroom. He stood atop of the stairs and noticed the door was shut.

It was time to engage the enemy. Clay donkey-kicked the door open and raised the knife high.

"Darryl?"

The amber light of the EKG flickered on and off.

Clay's beloved brother Darryl lay on his death bed unconscious.

The knife fell to the floor.

Thud.

Clay was overcome with emotion, and he cried in place watching his brother die in front of him.

Clay realized that Darryl hadn't come back. Darryl had been summoned by Clay from his resting place, because of a deal with the devil.

Unspeakable guilt consumed Clay and he now realized he was in a nightmare. Darryl's presence confirmed that.

As Clay stood before his dying brother, he heard footsteps creeping up behind him. It was death, in the form of an eight-year-old kid.

Clay heard the butcher knife picked up off the floor behind him. It made a scraping sound. The stench of sour milk made Clay's hair stand on end. He was defeated and prepared to accept the inevitable. He'd lost the will to fight.

A silhouette of the raised knife beamed on the opposite wall. Clay closed his eyes braced for imminent death. The buzzing sound of the bees downstairs grew louder, causing Clay to cover his ears.

Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz, Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz.

"Dear Lord, don't let me perish."

Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz, Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz.

Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz, Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz.

The sound of Clay's cell phone interrupted his nightmare. He reached for it on the nightstand. He was out of breath. He answered the phone.

_Cough, cough, cough_. "Hello? Hello? I can't hear you. Sorry, this is a really bad connection. Whoever you, thank you. You just saved my life."

Clay hung up the phone, completely exasperated from a nightmare from hell. He sat up in bed, soaked from sweat. He didn't know what was real and what wasn't.

Lying next to him was the outline of a human form underneath the duvet. He fixated on it before he whisked the duvet away.

Staring right at him were the most beautiful green eyes.

"Claire?"

"Of course, silly. Who else would it be?" Claire yawned and stretched, lifting her arms high. "Who was that on the phone?"

Clay checked his phone. "It says out of area." He silently thanked God for the call that had saved his life.

He rubbed his eyes and refocused on Claire.

"Claire, have I ever told you how beautiful you look?"

"You're just saying that because I'm naked."

"Claire, what day is it?"

"It's Valentine's Day, silly."

"Okay, so what happened last night?"

"The police officer came by and said you can't cash the check. Don't you remember?"

Claire followed Clay into the shower. Clay was soothed by the splashing of hot water on his back. It allowed him to decompress.

After drying himself off, Clay wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the study and checked his computer.

The first thing he checked was his history. It had a clean bill of health. He opened an email that required his immediate attention. He typed away furiously.

Clay and Claire had a light breakfast.

"Honey, I have to go to the VA this morning. I'll be away for a few hours. There are a few things I need to take care of."

"But, Clay, your appointment is tomorrow."

"Sweetheart, I know it's tomorrow. I just need to have a word with them first. I'll be back in time for our reservation tonight."

Claire kissed Clay's lips, leaving a glossy smudge.

The VA Office, RAF Alconbury

"Hi, Marissa, I have an appointment tomorrow for my VA disability claim."

"Yes. It's at eleven thirty a.m. How can I help you, Mr. Thompson?"

Clay leaned slightly over the counter.

"Yeah, about that appointment. You can cancel it."

"But Mr. Thompson, that will have a negative impact on your claim."

"Marissa, I know this may sound strange, but I'm okay with that. In fact, I'm more than okay with it. Just cancel it. My medical record will have to stand on its own merit. I'm forgoing the physical. Thank you for all the hard work you've done getting me to this point, but this is where I have to jump off. You've been the consummate professional."

Clay checked his watch. "Take care, Marissa. I've got to the catch the next train to Kings Cross."

New Paradigm Publishers, London

Clay's entrance into the building drew the attention of security. He called Emily from his cell phone in the lobby.

"Emily, this is Clay. I really need to speak with you. It's urgent."

"Okay, Clay. I'll be right down. Just give me a wee second."

Clay waited patiently for Emily. He stood upon seeing her exit the elevator.

Emily greeted Clay with the obligatory double air-kiss and sat opposite him.

"Okay, this better be good. What's up?"

Clay retrieved a manila folder from his briefcase and handed it to Emily.

Emily gave Clay a sly look. She removed her glasses and retrieved Clay's manuscript. She read intently.

After reading the synopsis and the first three chapters, she collapsed the folder.

"Clay, come with me to my office, quickly. Do you have a title for the story yet?"

"I was going to call it _LUCID Nightmare_."

Two weeks later

Clay phoned for a taxi. It arrived promptly in less than ten minutes.

"Where to, sir?" asked the driver.

Clay strapped himself in and immediately recognized the driver. "I'm headed to the Halifax bank. I have to make a much-needed deposit."

Clay was happy and felt blessed to have a familiar face pick him up.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" Clay asked.

"Sorry, I pick up so many people. Have I picked you up before?"

Clay beamed, looking out the window. "Yes."

The cab stopped in front of the local Sainsbury supermarket, a short distance from the bank.

"That will be nine pound forty, please."

Clay handed the driver a fifty-pound note.

"I'm sorry, sir. But I don't carry that much change. You will have to go inside and change it."

Clay stood outside the cab and shut the door. "No, you keep it. You deserve it," Clay insisted.

The driver was pleasantly surprised. "For what? It was a short trip."

Clay poked his head into the car.

"This is gonna sound strange to you, but we met at another place, in another time," Clay sighed.

"We had a brief conversation. Those powerful words you spoke, I'll remember until the day I die."

Clay shook the driver's hand and walked away, feeling redeemed.

"What did I say?" the driver shouted.

Clay turned around.

"He will never fail you!" he shouted at the top of his lungs

The author on Huntingdon Radio Station HCR discussing paranormal experiences in his latest book.

### Author's Corner

This story was inspired by personal experiences from March to November 2016. This book is not intended to glamorize the paranormal; it was written to offer my personal opinion about the impact and perhaps purpose of dreams.

My other titles include: _Flagrant Misconduct_ , _My Name is Elijah_ , _The Mogadishu Diaries_ , _Insider Threat_ , _The Seduction of Monet Dawson_ , _The Crossover_ (a Number One best seller in the UK) and _The Syndicate: Operation Valiant Exodus_.

New Paradigm Publishing. All rights reserved. 2017

http://www.new-paradigm-publishers.org

Thanks to all who inspired me and contributed to this story. Tony Bailey, Bryant Culp, Terry Hogan, Sally Noble, Maria Holland, Tara Johns, Mona Lee, K. Victoria Chase and The VA staff at RAF Alconbury.

Above all. I give thanks to The Lord Jesus Christ who has never failed me.

Editing Services: Eliza Dee | Clio Editing Services

Ebook formatting: http://design.lkcampbell.com

Cover Design: Cesar Vargas
