Mightier Than The Sword! (Excerpt 2)

The moment she thought about their ability to solve crimes, she got a check in her spirit that was so strong that she opened her eyes and looked around her. It was almost as if someone had spoken aloud, but she knew she was alone in the bungalow.

“That’s odd. I wonder where that thought came from,” she wondered aloud.

She pulled out her bible and put on her glasses to read for a while. While she was reading, again she got a check in her spirit. The thought came to her, “this rest will not be for long.”

“What the heck does mean?” She pulled her glasses off and sat nibbling on the end of the stem of eyeglasses, lost in thought.

Laying her head back against the chair in which she was sitting, she closed her eyes and before she knew it, she was asleep and dreaming. Her dreams encompassed the energy draining case they had just closed in which a white male had systematically chosen his victims—females between the ages of 21 and 25, light-complexioned, with short, close-cropped hair styles. He had abducted and raped them and then chained them in abandoned buildings, with their mouths duct-taped, left to die. Fourteen women had been found dead in three different states before they finally caught him—in the act of abducting female number fifteen. A witness to the abduction had the presence of mind to videotape the attempt while screaming for someone to call 911. The woman escaped and the man had fled, but not before video of his car was made.

When police arrived with the FBI, the woman and the witnesses were able to give a good description and helicopter units were on the scene within minutes. They had found him cowering in what appeared to be the next abandoned building he had planned to use for his victim. In his car, they found a knife, duct-tape, and a chain-ripper with a roll of chain links.

When questioned about the deaths of the women, he was vile and spewed profanity venomously at anyone with short hair. He wore his hair long and it was matted and tangled, making him look like a mad-man in a horror movie.

The psychologist who had profiled the killer had already intimated that the killer was someone who hated short-haired females because they reminded them of men who might have harmed them when they were younger. Eventually, they were able to ascertain that the killer had witnessed his father, raping young, light complexioned black girls just for the fun of it and had attempted to get him involved. During an attempt to rape another victim, his father was killed when the victim fought back and stabbed him to death. Watching from a hole in a wall where his father dragged his victims, he could not get help for him before he died. Apparently, in his mind, he was avenging his father’s death by raping the women and leaving them to die.

Tiffany groaned in her sleep and then turned over into another position. She saw drops of blood circling her and someone with a hood over their face holding a sword. Just as they got close enough to raise the sword to strike, she woke up, drenched in sweat.

Shaking like a leaf, she got out of the chair to get a cold drink. She stood at the sink, holding onto it for fear she’d fall, if she let go of it. Getting a glass out of the cabinet, she opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. Her hand was still shaking as she poured the water into the glass. Lifting the glass with both hands, she was able to steady the glass in order to drink the water, but she was so shaken by the dream that before she could finish the water, the glass slipped from her hand and broke.

Stepping back from the broken glass, she leaned against the wall and forced herself to stop shaking before she attempted to get up the broken glass.

“Breathe,” she told herself out loud, “Breathe!”

Spotting the broom and dustpan in the corner, she retrieved them and swept up the broken glass, but not before a splinter of glass pricked her finger and drops of blood formed a circle on the floor.

She stood frozen—thinking about the dream—and knew that something horrible was about to happen, but she didn’t know what.

Using self-talk to propel herself into motion, she made her way to the bathroom, cleansed the area around the cut and applied antiseptic before wrapping her finger in a bandage.

Going back to her chair, she picked up her glasses, spontaneously chewing on the end, as she became lost in thought.

“Now is not the time for panic,” she told herself. “Now is the time to reflect upon the possibilities and prepare for the unknown.”rev nano2

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