CHAPTER ONE

Jack Magniconte entered the police station's lounge on the lower east end of the first floor of the 57th Precinct. Instantly, he saw a swarm of people. Some were criminals handcuffed to their table accompanied by their police man or women stationed to protect them while they were escorted to the jail in another section of the precinct. Others were police officers having lunch by themselves or in a group in this early hour of the day. He passed through the throng of poeple clad in police uniforms and found the man he was looking for, sitting in a corner booth, nursing a coffee and a doughnut. Jack sat himself down on the side of the booth that wasn't occupied.

"Hello, David, you got anythin' for me?" Jack asked, as he noticed that David Davenport staring right back at him. David was of average height and build, probably from working out at the local gym. He wore a black three-piece suit that seemed to fit comfortably. When he spoke again, it was with the sheer virosity that he could muster, hinting at a tiny strength of what remained of his sense of humor. Jack knew that to be in the business of law enforcement as long as he had been a sense of humor was a luxury, one that he could not afford. "I assume that's why you called me at my office. So, what have you got for me? And make it snappy. My partner is upstairs at my desk proofing over the ballistics report that we have on our last child killing."

"Funny you should mention the child killings that have plagued the city recently," David said, as he continued the sip the final drops that remained of his coffee. "That's exactly what I have come here to talk to you about. Straight to the point--here it is. Word on the street is that there's this priest, real crazy number, that has inside contacts to the child welfare program and is kidnapping children and killing them. Leaves them disemboweled as well as you know. His contact and ours is a girl named Tracey Gitlin. She works for child welfare in the city and leaves him names and addresses of children to kill. She sounds corrupt but could be just a kid lookin' for some dope or money or both."

"Thanks, David," Jack said, as he watched David engulf the last drops of his coffee and replace the empty mug onto its saucer. "Do we have an address for this? Any leads?"

Davenport nodded. "Yes, we do. The old Acme Warehouse on 45th Street and Madison Avenue. Try there on Friday. The guy does his work on the Sabbath."

Jack reached over to shake David's hand. It was a firm handshake. "I'd take you on this one, David," he said. "But I prefer to make this one a personal one. I can take this priest out with one shot of my Goncz 9. Guarenteed."

The rest of the week passed listlessly and Jack felt he was prepared when Friday arrived. He entered the Acme warehouse and noticed that there wasn't any one guarding the door since it was abandoned. More bullets for the priest and whoever was behind this operation, he mused. When he entered the front of warehouse, he saw that the whole of the room was covered from head to toe with cardboard boxes marked 'Fragile'. Then he viewed a series of people at the center of the room nestled over a young boy on a slab. The boy was tied to the slab with hardware store style rope and the priest was at the head of the slab, raising a knife over the poor boy's body.

He ducked behind a pillar of boxes and watched the procession. He could hardly hear the men talking but it sounded like the priest was praying for the boy.

The priest's face was covered with sweat and rose the knife above the boy's heart. "O Lakshmi, your breasts are sweet and delicious with the succulent taste of beauty and good fortune. May you grant us luck on this inopportune day. May your mastery of beauty be transposed to our feast."

Fear trinkled through the soul of Jack Magniconte. He believed that the priest would kill again.

"I pray that the gods will smile upon us today. O Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, grant our wish. "

Jack looked at the boy. He was wearing tattered clothing, torn at the helm. Like the priest's face and his own, the boy's body was covered with exubriant sweat, from fear of his immiment death. His shirt and jeans rustled in the wind from an open window.

“Ye triad, you love for the gods, we need desperately now. Sarasvati, Lakshmi, and Parvati, aid in our prayer and make the baby-boy suffer for his insolence and impureness. We desire you and Aditi, too."

Jack stretched his arm out, armed with the Goncz 9. He aimed the gun at the priest's head. One shot was all he needed. One shot.

“Kama, ye lover supreme, and A Dakini, ye servant of the dark lord, answer our summons and make us whole. Us and this poor, pitiful, pathetic shell of a mortal."

The boy closed his eyes, when he saw the priest bring the blade up and down again, never touching the skin. Clearly, the priest was preparing for the act.

"Show death for him, o aspect of the wife of Shiva. Show no mercy for the damned and incurable of all evils. You shall be reborn on this plane. Come, Kali!!"

With sweat glinting in his eyes, Jack whispered, "I'll see you in hell, you miserable son of a bitch." Then, he fired the gun at the priest's head. First, there was a loud crack in the air like thunder and then, blood spewed forth from the head of the priest. He buckled back and then collapsed on the floor. The knife never left his hand.

Tracey Gitlin spotted Jack and hammered her fists at him. "You dirty bastard," she said. "He promised he would make my husband stop beating me if I delivered the children to him. He promised! He promised!!"

Dragging her by her arms, he carried her all the way to police headquarters where she was charged with accessory to murder.

CHAPTER TWO

Smithfield, North Carolina. Night fell over the little, almost deserted town in the deep southern part of the United States. In the grass fields, a farm girl ran for her life, her clothes in tatters. Cynthia Zuckerman saw the high school students escort her to a vehicle not far away but she escaped soon enough.

“Don’t make another move, girlie, or yer dead!” exclaimed an approaching student.

Turning towards the sound of his voice, young Cynthia saw certain death in the form of three strong teenagers, two of whom have just arrived.

“Whatever,” gasped the North Carolinian native, “you want, I’ll give it to ya. Jus’ tell me what you want. Please!”

“It’s not what you have that we want, it’s you yourself.”

Screaming at the top of her lungs, Cynthia turned and raced to the other side of the street, not knowing what would happen next.

“I’m glad you chose that little course of action, ‘cause I’ve been waiting to waste somebody today.”

“Hah! Youse guys almost scared me fra second right there. I forgot what I have that yer after. It’s m’power, the little thing I can do that makes me move objects with m’mind. Now, y’see, it’s partee time!!”

One teen exercised a superb choke-hold on Miss Zuckerman.

“Gotcha!”

Not far away, Cynthia finally broke free of the second teen’s choke-hold. But before she made another move, the third teen side-kicked her mouth. She spat blood.

“No! Please! I give up! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!”

“But, m’dear, I know jus’ the thing how you can make it up to us! How’s about a good, long, refreshing frisking?”

“Son of a –“

Energy crackled around the girl’s twin, crystal blue eyes and the next thing this teen knew was that he’s flying through the air out of the farm and about five miles onto Interstate 95.

Gotta get outta here, she thought feverishly, before it’s too late! Suddenly, two doors swung wide and she saw a few hundred townspeople, the total population of Smithfield, with lit torches, and hate and prejudice written all over their faces.

And now the young sixteen year old faced death and betrayal at the hands of her entire town.

As it was night in Smithfield, North Carolina, several hours later, it was high afternoon in Matawan, New Jersey. It was a beautiful day. At a shopping center called the Strathmore Mall, and a local comic book specialty store, James Deutsch was having the time of his life .For the past five years, he collected comics, enjoying every minute of it.

Before his fellow customers could react, James rushed to the comic book section of the store, with a huge smile across his face.

Fifteen minutes later, he brought his purchases to the cashier counter, paid for them, and the cashier returned his smile in appreciation of his joy and remembering how foolish she was when she was a kid and she threw away all her old comics, as she rang up the final results of his purchase. With much excitement, a not-so young James proudly exited the store, without a care in the world.

Another teen walked through the mall, a few stores back from James. Jessica Somers, a very fine, very sophisticated young woman, was hiding her fear and doubts about the world around her. Back in Manhatten, she was employed in the world’s oldest profession. But after a fortunate incident with her pimp, she fled to New Jersey, changed her clothes, her attitude on life, her name, the totality of her existence metamorphosized forever and she reentered society a new person.

But as she reminisced of the horror of her former life, disaster struck. Moving close to the speed of light, a mugger pushed her aside and made away with her Sax’s Fifth Avenue purse.

As luck would have it, the swift man passed the comic specialty store, just as James Deutsch exited it. Thought and reaction were as one, as James pursued the mugger. Bending his legs in a certain not unfamiliar fashion, he leapt in the air and tackled him.

“I do not,” exclaimed young James, “take kindly to punk kids, who mug beautiful ladies.”

“Uh-uh, boyo! Not now, not ever!”

Faster than the human eye could follow, the juvenile criminal took out a handy pocket knife and slashed and cut James’ hand.

Furious as ever, the comic book freak grabbed his opponent’s cheek, letting a burst of cosmic energy be released onto the mugger’s body.

The teenager flew but not very far when he encountered the nineteen-year old Jessica Somers.

Grinning, she laughed, “Hiya, cutie! ‘Member me?”

Not exactly knowing what she’s doing, Jessica kicked him in the groin, as hard as she was able. God, that felt good, she thought.

Then, she, all in a matter of five seconds, punched him in the mouth and hurled him against a brick wall.

After calling the police, James confronted the injured party.

“Uhm, Miss,” mumbled the stuttering teen. “Are you well?”

“As well as I’ll ever be.”

“How did you defeat him? I saw it but I couldn’t believe it.”

“It’s just something I learned back home. But, seriously, I used to live in New York and y’know, you have to know how to fight or you get stomped on. By the by, I’m Jessica Somers.”

“James Deutsch. Uh, don’t think me too forward. I usually am not, but do you want to join me for lunch?”

“Well, you’re in luck today. Because I’m in the mood to be kind.”

And with a smile, they were off.

For the next several days, even weeks maybe, they started to date steadily. In Matawan, Jessica and James became the hottest couple. Going to restaurants and parties, they each had the time of their lives.

About a month later, in mid-September, their date led them to a not-so flimsy nightclub in New York City. As James drank what seemed to be a gallon of beer, Jessica truly and absolutely let her hair down and danced the night away, with a vengeance. A few hours later, a tired Jessica returned to the table with that very special glow-like smile painted on her face that probably first attracted James to her. Her date can almost sense that something was troubling her as her shop till you drop, party look faded to a serious one, which truly worried him. Since they started dating, she hadn’t stopped smiling.

“Jess, sweet-‘eart,” comfortably said James’ soothing and understanding voice, “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, James, it’s really nothing. But I was thinking to the night about a month ago when you saved me from that mean ol’ rotten mugger. When you touched him he screamed like he was burned.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Jessica. You probably guessed it but I am what some people call ‘paranormal’. I can control certain amounts of cosmic energy within my very fingertips. I didn’t use it against the mugger ‘cos I was afraid that he would be killed. Y’see, I didn’t tell you earlier ‘cos I thought you would be scared to be near a freak like me.”

“Oh, you silly boy! I’m actually fascinated by paranormals. The reason I asked is that I saw this in the morning paper.”

Bending down, Jessica opened her purse, taking out the Asbury Park Press and placed it on the table. The main headline reads, “Paranormals; Friend or Foe?” James was especially shocked by this.

“I don’t believe this, Jessica. They actually think that we are a threat. They are crazy. Completely mad.”

“I know, boy do I know. The other reason why I brought it up is because I know of a scientific institute directed of helping paranormals cope with their powers and reenter society as almost normal people.”

“You would do this for me. Bring me there and help me!”

“Of course, James m’love.”

“You’re terrific, you know that?”

“Don’t I know it.”

“I love you, Jessica Somers.”

“The feelin’s mutual, James Deutsch.”

And then, with the clinking of glasses, the two lovers, a month ago total strangers, came together and engaged in a long, lingering, heart enthralling kiss, to express how much they both love each other and would be destroyed if they were ever parted.

With a duffle bag on shoulders and an infinite huge frown across her face, she entered a not so flimsy night club and headed straight to the ladies’ room. As she passed probably the world’s most perfect couple what she would term “making out” in absolute view of neighborly gawkers, her frown deepened for she now knew that she would not be a part of that happy life because of her dreadful paranormal power.

The old rotted restroom door creaked open and she wished she was dead. To her left, she saw four girls, no more than three or four years older than she, sharing a bag of mixed cocaine, marijuana, and heroin by sniffing and snorting it’s horrific powder. To her right, she saw two girls discussing in detail their latest drug purchase, their bra size, their latest break-up with Jim, and in detail, their intimate relations with their new boyfriends. It wasn’t exactly their words that surprised her. It’s actually what they’re wearing. The first, no older than thirteen, with pink glowing flourescent lipstick and long red curly hair, wore a dark blue maybe navy leather jacket unzipped, completely open and within was a light blue aqua tank top. The other was just wearing a tee-shirt and very tight spandex pants.

Then, quickly ignoring everyone around her and the deeds they were performing, Cynthia reached the last mirror and looked into it. Not paying attention to the insects, cockroaches, bees, and the mosquitos in the sink, her mind raced back to two months ago.

It was July and she just recently discovered her power of telekinesis and foolishly decided to explain or better yet, show it to her parents. She could see the horror in her parents’ faces. She knew it was her parents that sent those three high school students and her fellow townspeople against her. She was lucky to be alive.

The memory faded as a hand tapped her on the shoulder. She quickly spun around and saw one of the waitresses she passed as she entered.

“I’m sorry, young lady,” said the waitress in a rusque voice. “But you have to order something here! You can’t just go to the bathroom! Sorry, it’s house policy. If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to your table.”

“Why don’t youse people jus’ leave me alone!” screamed a terrified Cynthia as her eyes glowed like they were afire.

A bolt of pure telekinetic energy escaped her mind as the hinges and locks of the restroom entrance door spun off and the door itself flew into the club. She pushed the waitress out of the way and ran in plain view of the other waitresses, the dancers, the customers, and the bartenders.

“Oh no, oh please, oh no!! Get outta m’way! I jus’ wanna go home to mamma and poppa! I wanna be free!”

“I dunno whatcher trying to do, ya dumb chick,” sounded a roughneck man, clearly fed-up. “But I aim to find out, one way or another.”

With all the strength that he possessed, the brusque man hefted up a table and hurled the now monstrous weapon at the young girl.

“Oh God,” she cried. “I knew goin’ in a frenzy wouldn’t be healthy but I hadda let out a l’il steam. But now, it doesn’t matter ‘cos I’m a dead duck. Jus’ lahk a door nail.”

She quite wasn’t sure what happened next, as two thin tender, glowing like a star, hands grabbed the approaching projectile and threw it to the side, against the bartender’s counter. Cynthia’s savior was surprisingly Jessica Somers, who enjoying the ruckus, tackled the fed-up attacker.

“Tally-ho!” she yelled with much excitement, which escaped Jessica for too long a time.

A few feet away, Cynthia finally realized her predictament, as James Deutsch saw to her welfare.

“Young lady,” he said. “Are you all right? I saw the trouble you were in and decided to help, as I do for all the lovely and beautiful damsels in distress. But mind you, if you were up to it, I think we can help my friend, Jessica, in her fight with your attacker.”

“Uh, you really find me lovely an’ beautiful?”

“Sure do! I, only as a gentleman of my caliber should, state the obvious. Now, follow my lead!”

And follow she did, with her heart entrapped in a dead-lock, as first James molded the acid in his perspiration in the shape of a sphere and threw it to blind him, then Cynthia herself telekinetically bound him, and finally, Jessica delivered the final blow, the coup de grace! He’s out like a light in mere seconds.

Edging towards his steady, he looked more perplexed than usual. “Why didn’t you tell me, dear Jessica,” he said with more enthusiasm than surprise, “that you were a paranormal?”

“I dunno! It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I guess now that we both need this clinic you told me about!”

“Did you say,” interrupted Cynthia,” that there’s a clinic for people like us with strange powers, for paranormals?”

“Yup,” replied James. “Wanna join us?”

“It would be m’pleasure!”

Time and surroundings passed as the three teens found themselves entering a huge skyscraper, the Delta Center, a clinic for people with extraordinary abilities, in Albany, New York.

James, the supposed leader of the trio, approached the receptionist desk. “Miss, my partners and I are paranormals and were wondering how we may contact the man in charge of the Delta Center?”

In a smooth, soothing voice, trained to offer happiness and joy to the new arrivals, the receptionist, which the three knew to be Lenore Wadsworth by reading her name tag, replied, “It’ll be my pleasure!” She added a heart-warming smile. “Just go straight down to your left to the elevator and take the fourteenth floor.”

“Thank you, Miss Wadsworth.”

“Call me Lenore. I’ve a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”

With that, again to offer happiness and joy to the customers, she spread her red luscious lipsticked lips (the brand was Hot to Trot lipgloss) and next, at the same time, winking her right eye, covered in purple eye gloss, and licked her lips in a forward movement towards him.

As they follow Lenore’s specific directions Jessica whispered, in James’ ear, “I did not like how she was speaking and looking at you.”

“Do not worry,” he said. “You know that I have only eyes, ears, and my love for you, dearest Jessica.”

Twisting her about, James opened his mouth and kissed Jessica on the lips. And then they hug one another tenderly like they haven’t seen each other in months, maybe years.

Soon, as the elevator down the hall opened, they saw another man, presumably paranormal.

“So,” said James, not exactly knowing why he’s talking to a total stranger. “Are you another patient here?”

“Sure am,” the man replied. “The name’s Ramsey. Bryan Ramsey. Y’see, I’m a transmutator. Let me show you.”

With a press of a button, the elevator descended and then in mid-flight stopped, froze for a second, and went up at superspeed. When the door opened again, they were indeed on the fourteenth floor.

“Wow,” said James.

“How did you?” said Cynthia.

“Can’t be,” said Jessica.

“Has to be,” said Bryan. “As much as I and my parents would like to think otherwise, I am what I am. Can’t hide it. Wish I could. Just gotta face my being a paranormal and live with it.”

The foursome was as nervous as a kid was when he asked a girl out and went on his first date as they walked to their right, second door. The room number was 185 and the name on the door was Dr. Nathan Drake PHd in Paranormal Research.

“Well, this is it. Jessica, everyone,” said James Deutsch as his arms wrapped around his girlfriend, Jessica Somers. Not knowing it, Bryan Ramsey held Cynthia Zuckerman’s hand tightly and tenderly as a lover or true friend would.

“C’mon, let’s do it, kid. The waiting’s drivin’ me buggy!”

His slick hand held the knob and opened the door slowly and inexorably as a final chapter in their lives was closed and a new one was opened, one with adventure and unfortunately, prejudice. Surprisingly, they welcomed it with open arms.