Trifecta (100 page)

"You don't understand."  He paused dramatically,
staring at her furiously with his hypnotic cat eyes.  "We will make the two
of us one.  In our child."

Was that what this whole thing was all about?  He wanted
a child with her?  It seemed inconceivable.  "You're sure taking chances with
these genes I have.  That you evidently want.  Just a little cramp in the water
out there, and I wouldn't even be here.  Not even mentioning the fact that you would
need some sort of cooperation on my part.  Unless you like to partake in rape yourself."

Omar seemed to ignore her comments.  "I had to make
sure you were strong enough.  Of the billions in each generation, there are only
a few people like you and me.  People with special gifts."

"We don't belong in the same category," Michelle
snapped.

"You're right.  I need your gifts and mine combined
to pass on to the male child.  He will be the next step in the evolution of mankind. 
My own line of progeny!  You will be the mother of the child of a powerful Necromancer. 
The mother of one who can heal and has the terrible gift of precognition.  Together
our spirits will mingle in this child."

Michelle looked at him warily, really frightened.  The
man was a raving lunatic.  It sounded like the experiments Hitler tried to perform. 
Master race and all that shit.

"Unfortunately, I think the tests have only made you
stronger.  That's why I had to take your friends."

Damn right she was stronger, Michelle thought, trying to
control a dawning terror.  She didn't think he would try to rape her himself for
this child.  No, he was more a manipulator.  He would try and make her want this
vision of his.  And he had been right in saying he had made her stronger.  Strong
enough to break every bone in his repulsive body. 

The fact that Omar was truly crazy, even delusional, was
extremely scary.  It made him totally unpredictable.

She turned and looked out to sea.  Where was Vincent? 
Fifteen minutes must have gone by.  She had taken about two minutes to upchuck
all the salt water.  She and Omar had been talking for a few minutes.  After
Vincent began his trip on a wave it would take less than thirty seconds for him
to reach the beach.  Her eyes scanned the ocean frantically, but she couldn't
see anything.  She tried to remember how Nakamura had given artificial
respiration to Heather last night, but her thoughts were jumbled and this was
an entirely different situation.  Vincent might need to have water pumped out
of his lungs and she wasn't sure how to do that.  Maybe the Heimlich's
maneuver?

"Look into the flames, Michelle.  Hypnotizing aren't
they, my dear?  You still don't believe in my powers.  I'll have to show you."

This was the Trial-by-Fire, Michelle realized.  He was
going to try and enthrall her.  Michelle relentlessly gazed at the ocean, keeping
her eyes away from the flames which would prevent her from seeing Vincent.

Omar had reached over and turned off the radio.  He was
saying words that she didn't understand.  It was some kind of chant, or charm or
hex, she imagined.  It sounded liquid and comforting to her ears as his voice, a
deep bass, boomed along in harmony with the rhythmic sound of the crashing breakers.

When she saw the first small, bright round globe, like
part of the dancing flames in front of her, she thought the wood was spitting up
sparks.  The fire Omar had made was a large one, and the bright ball could have
been a big spark from the blaze.

Then there was another bright globe of light that was obviously
not attached to the fire, floating in the air between them.  She looked closer and
saw that the globe was not really round, but covered with tiny facets, like a diamond. 

Michelle looked at the bright bits of light in consternation. 
Where had they come from?  They seemed to materialize out of the air all around
her.  Suddenly there were many gold flames, at least ten or fifteen.  She smiled
at the display, because it was beautiful and non-threatening.  She had to hand it
to him.  Omar was a wonderful magician and it was a glorious trick. 

Watching the small round spheres was mesmerizing as they
danced in place, up and down gently, like tiny balloons on strings, or zipped around
the fire, around both their heads.

Michelle laughed, "That's wonderful, Omar."

Omar smiled at her reaction.  "You wonder what happens
to people after they die?  Where the spirits go?"

"These are spirits?"  She didn't really believe
it.

"Yes, Michelle.  I conjure up the spirits of the dead. 
For you.  I can teach you so much, if you will just allow me."

One of the golden spheres zipped right in front of Michelle's
face and stayed there.  The light burned her eyes and she could see a green afterglow
when she blinked against the dazzling brightness.  It was like the experience when
someone takes an unexpected flash picture before you can avert your eyes.

With her eyes closed to recover from the slight burn, and
the bright glittering globes out of her sight, rationality finally came back to
Michelle.  Omar had given her something in the water.  She was sure of it.  It must
have been an hallucinogen.  The globes were a figment of her imagination.  But if
that was true, how had Omar known her personal vision?  Each person's hallucination
is unique; Omar couldn't possibly guess what she would see.  Unless it was real.

Michelle opened her eyes again and there were several more
of the separate and brilliant lights around the fire.  She laughed and clasped her
hands, it was so wonderful.  She felt like a child, watching the spinning and zipping
lights.  And as she watched, Omar continued to chant and murmur words that she did
not bother to listen to.  Words about the wonderful life they would possess.  Words
describing their beautiful child. 

He reached out and grabbed one of the tiny lights and she
could see him squeezing it in his hand.  The glow between his fingers became softer
and then went out altogether.  When he opened his palm there was hard brightness
in it, which he threw at her feet.

Michelle picked up the glittering object and looked at
the facets sparkling in the firelight.  It looked like a very large diamond.

Omar paused in his chanting momentarily to say, "It
is."  Then he began the chant again, as Michelle tried to tear her eyes from
the beautiful gem in her hand.

After a time, she didn't know how long, Michelle could
almost see the child Omar was describing.  He had dark hair, like both of them did,
and he was so beautiful he seemed totally composed of light.  His eyes were blue,
unlike either she or Omar.  A light seemed to emanate from the child's blue eyes,
a blue light like a flame. 

Suddenly she frowned, not enjoying the picture of the child
anymore.  That blue light issuing from his eyes, like odd blue headlights from a
car, seemed more than just beautiful.  The light was piercing and scary and held
the essence of evil.  She wondered if she was receiving a glimpse of her ability
of precognition, seeing the future and finding that the child, instead of being
a beautiful individual, was a spiritual monster of wicked intent.  Of course, with
Omar as father, guiding the child, what else could he become.

Michelle shook her head violently.  The golden lights were
still all around her.  She felt like she was waking up from a dream that was not
exactly a nightmare, but neither was it pleasant.  Michelle shook her body violently
and stood up quickly.  As she did so, one of the globes struck her head.  She could
hear her hair crackling, sizzling with flames.  Her hair was wet.  How could it
burn?  She rubbed the place and felt the pain of fire in her hand.  When she looked,
her palm was reddened, as though it had been burned. 

Michelle realized she had to get away from the lights,
or spirits, or whatever.  They had made her forget everything for an unspecified
amount of time.  She had been in danger from the beautiful golden lights; danger
of hypnosis, danger in seeing Omar's visions just as he wanted her to. 

Michelle was furious with herself.  If Omar could throw
lightening bolts, this must be child's play, and she had almost succumbed.  She
threw the diamond into the fire.

Michelle started hurrying toward the ocean.

"Where are you going, Michelle?" Omar called
out.

She ignored him.  After having been in a sitting position
for a while her overworked muscles were cramping and she was surprised that she
could barely walk.  She was concerned about how long she had been sitting beside
Omar and watching the faceted globes of light.  It didn't feel like a long time,
but she couldn't be sure.  The moon looked like it was in the same position, so
it couldn't have been too long. 

She staggered down to the ocean and scanned it carefully,
praying she would see Vincent's balding head bobbing out there somewhere, but she
could see nothing but enormous waves crashing to shore, lit into phosphorescent
rolls in the light of an evilly smiling crescent moon.

A
s Michelle scanned the ocean, movement caught
in her peripheral vision, at the edge of the beach near the rocks.  The urge to
look was almost overwhelming.  First, though, she glanced behind her.  Omar was
slowly rising from his sitting position, carefully dusting off his pants, ridding
himself of the clinging sand.  The golden globes that had surrounded the fire were
gone.

She glanced to the left quickly for a moment, where she
had seen movement, hardly daring to hope.  Something that looked like a giant white
slug was scuttling slowly, crouched down low against the black rocks at the rim
of the beach.  Vincent? 

Yes! 

He had made it out of the water, probably while they were
involved with the lights and Omar was casting his spell, or whatever.  Vincent was
crawling, trying to reach the trail that led through the cliffs.  Michelle felt
like cheering.

Although Vincent was trying to stay low and move unobtrusively,
his almost nude white body showed up clearly in the moonlight against the black
volcanic rocks.  Omar would notice him as soon as he looked up from his fastidious
clean up.  It was a miracle Vincent had made it that far, but he was only about
fifty yards from Omar, across from the fire in the middle of the beach. 

She had to create a diversion.

Michelle furtively motioned to Vincent to get down lower. 
He wouldn't be seen as easily against the white sand.  Then she turned around and
started running back to the fire.  She stumbled a few times, her muscles still cramping. 
She wished she could see if Vincent was unharmed; she wanted to go to him and give
him the rest of the water in the Thermos, but Omar might kill him.  It had certainly
been his intent, dropping Vincent in the ocean.  Michelle fell awkwardly, on purpose,
to keep Omar's attention on her, and to make him think she was feeble.  He watched
with interest as she made her way back to the fire. 

She locked eyes with him, to keep his attention fixed,
and slowly stretched up with both arms.  Then she bent from the waist and touched
her palms to the sand, repeating the movement slowly several times, keeping her
eyes steadily on his.  She flexed her body from side to side and then carefully
started stretching out each leg.

"Very pretty, Michelle.  What are you doing?"

Michelle started knee squats to get the blood circulating. 
"You must know, Omar."  She couldn't see what Vincent was doing now, but
hoped he was hurrying.  "The same thing I did to your witches."

She had surprised him.  His eyes were so dark it almost
looked like there were red sparks inside, like blood, from the fire.  As she continued
her slow exercises to get ready, she felt relieved that she had warned him.

"They were females, Michelle."

"So?"

"So, I doubt you could do the same to me.  Or any
man for that matter."

"Do you?"

"Yes."  Omar sounded confident.

Michelle smiled sardonically, "On top of everything
else, murderer, magician, rapist, torturer, drug dealer...you're a male chauvinist
pig, Omar."

"The ultimate insult?  I like women a lot," Omar
said, smiling back at her.  It was amusement tinged with contempt.

"Because they're weaker?  Because you can manipulate
them?" "That is correct.  Physiologically women are not as strong as men."

"In that case, when we fight, you won't use any unfair
advantages?" Michelle asked.

"What do you mean?  I have no intention of fighting."

"You don't have any choice, Omar."  Michelle
was trying to sound confident, but she was perturbed about her depleted physical
condition.  Her arms were especially tired and her legs kept cramping painfully
as she tried to work the muscles and ligaments loose.  On top of that, it was sometimes
hard to hate Omar, like right now, when he was being both amusing and very polite. 
It was difficult to fit the different components of his personality together.  He
was a lunatic and a murderer, and totally untrustworthy, but he was also charming
and funny at times.

"Now, I'm very tired," Michelle said.  "You
might even say physically exhausted after that swim.  So, to make the fight fair,
no dirty little tricks."

"What do you mean, tricks?" Omar asked innocently.

"Oh, please," Michelle murmured, trying to get
a kink out of her scapula, this was exasperating.  "Lightening bolts.  Little
diversions like the fire lights.  I imagine you have thousands of crafty little
surprises up your sleeves."

"Or in my cape?"

He pulled out the sides of the cape, like wings, his arms
straight out to the side.  He looked like Dracula expanding, ready to fly off like
a bat.

Omar shrugged off the cape and folded it neatly on the
blanket.  He started taking off his shoes, which surprised her.  He would have
an advantage if he had shoes to kick with.  Next came the shirt.  It took
awhile with the necessity to undo all the tiny studs and detach the
cummerbund.  Michelle started deep breathing exercises as she continued to work
her muscles.  She watched Omar take off his pants.  He had a spectacular physique
in the light of the dancing flames.

"Don't want to get down and dirty, Omar?" Michelle
jeered when he finished undressing.  But she was glad this whole thing was taking
so long.  She could see Vincent behind Omar now, starting up the trail.  He looked
like he was dragging and he must be exhausted, but he kept moving up the steep path. 
She had absolutely no hope he would get help fast enough to prevent this debacle,
but at least he could hide and be safe from the madman in front of her.

"No, I don't."  He started matching her, movement
for movement.  When she stretched out her calves, he was mimicking her.  When she
bent, he was like her own shadow on the other side of the fire, exactly copying
her movements.  What, in fact, he was doing, was readying himself for the confrontation,
and Michelle was suddenly aware that he knew the preparations normally taken before
beginning a serious karate match. 

As Michelle finally stood, just watching, Omar did a few
complicated double side kicks, then a few round kicks and he suddenly ended the
demonstration, crouched down low, directly in front of her.  He was so fast she
didn't know how he got there.  He hadn't jumped over the fire. 

Damn, she was going to get killed. 

He knew how to fight. 

Her only advantage was that he wouldn't really want to
harm her, if he intended her to be the mother of his ungodly child.

"Do you agree?" Michelle asked.  Omar was so
close she could feel his breath on her, crowding her space much too intimately. 
He was already a little winded, but he should be if he was really someplace in his
sixties, with those complicated kicks and that leap over to her.

"Agree?" He asked.

"Omar, don't be obtuse.  Do you agree?"

"If you agree that if I win, you bare my child."

Michelle thought it over.  Did he mean if he won they would
copulate right here on the beach?  She didn't think so, but she didn't trust him
one bit.  Maybe he had taken off most of his clothes to take advantage of her. 
Of course, the probability of her getting pregnant was virtually nonexistent, while
her chance of being significantly harmed was damned high if he used sorcery.  In
her condition right now, she knew she didn't have a chance in this competition,
whether he used magic or not.  Not after watching his warm up and the uncanny leap
he had made.  She might as well ask for the moon.

"If I win," Michelle said, as they circled each
other warily, "you never practice sorcery again.  You never hurt another person
in your life.  You stop using drugs and animals and insects to kill and terrorize. 
You tame Samson, so he never  rapes or murders again."

"Anything else?"  He was smiling like it was
a joke.

"You don't drop people in the sea."

"That's all?" 

"I'm sure I've missed a few," Michelle said,
"but you get the general idea."

She looked his body over obviously, wanting to sneer, but
he merely looked lethal.  It was funny, his eyes were suddenly hooded, as though
he really was Oriental, and he seemed to be studying her through droopy, half closed
lids.  She had to admit, she was scared out of her mind.

When she kicked high at his Adams apple, he was gone and
she almost fell over backwards.  So much for the first strike.  She steeled her
body for severe pain.

He countered with a flurry of kicks of his own.  Each one
landed within a millimeter of her flesh, aimed at her chest, her thigh, her neck,
her face.  She countered some, but she couldn't have blocked all of them.

Christ, she was fighting a Kung Fu master.

"You didn't answer my question, Omar," Michelle
said.

"Fine.  The bet is on."

Michelle was able to hit him a few times, but without enough
force to really stop him; her body was sluggish and not responding quickly enough. 
He could have killed her already if he had wanted to, they both knew it.

"I didn't agree to the part about having your child,"
Michelle gasped, jumping out of range of a kick.  "Think of something else."

Omar laughed.  "Too late to renege now.  Besides,
all I want is an egg.  A piece of you no bigger than a pin-head.  We'll go to Switzerland. 
They have fertility clinics in Gaast.  One of my young healthy witches will be provided
as incubator.  Of course, as the biological mother, you will have all the glory. 
And I want you to raise him."

A thoroughly modern warlock, Michelle thought.  What a
loathsome idea, to have someone else go through the period of gestation like a brood
mare.

Michelle knew Omar was capable of tearing her apart himself
to get the egg, if it were possible.  He would do it without a qualm, but he needed
the help of science, to have the operation performed in a clinic.  It was probably
the reason he hadn't slipped her any dangerous drugs.  He needed her in good physical
health because he expected doctors to be monitoring her condition in the near future.

He was playing with her like a toy, Michelle realized,
after a while.  It interested him, probably marginally, that she would have the
guts to fight him.  But he knew all along that he would win.  Soon she would be
too exhausted to go on. 

"Where did you learn," Michelle asked, after
ineffectively kicking him in the chest.  Not hard enough.

"China."  He was breathing hard.  "Did you
think becoming a Necromancer was easy?  Did you think it took no discipline?  This
is just the physical mechanical part; the cerebral is much more taxing than any
kind of bodily workout.  I've studied all over the world.  Care to try judo, tae
kwon do, aikido, wing chung, American kick boxing, shinkendo ...?" Omar asked,
stalking her in a circle around the fire.  "You're a very talented amateur,
but you will never win, Michelle."

She knew he was right.  She was an excellent fighter, but
her rage seemed to have withered as exhaustion caught up with her.  Omar was stronger
and had experience in many fighting disciplines.  The thought crossed her mind that
she could just walk into one of the lethal blows he was delivering and end it. 
It almost seemed like a satisfying conclusion.  Omar wouldn't get his baby.  Heather
and Nakamura would be safe.  Her family would be safe.  If she died here on the
beach.  Even Vincent would probably get to a road eventually and manage to get help. 
Too late for her, but maybe Vincent did have enough evidence to put Omar in jail.

"Did you know the woman you fought with on the beach
is dead," Omar asked.

Guilt suddenly washed over Michelle, making her weaker. 
"Which one?"  She had punched Suzanne pretty hard in the stomach.  Had
she ruptured an internal organ?

"You're so transparent, Michelle," Omar said,
gently tapping the side of his foot against her nose in another one of his perfectly
controlled kicks.  He had taken advantage of her momentary diversion.  "It's
Ginger.  My sister."

"I only hurt her knee," Michelle said, getting
a punch through his defenses and hitting him hard in the abdomen.

"She was my high priestess for years," Omar murmured
softly.

That one obviously hurt him; it certainly had hurt her
hand. She didn't want to go on with the fight and she didn't take the momentary
advantage that might have been her only chance.  He really was a dangerous, deadly
man, but he was such a spectacularly evil, dark and brilliantly twisted figure also. 
She was furious with him but also felt grudging respect:  he was the modern day
equivalent of the Devil.

Omar was right when he said that the mental disciplines
were more difficult than the physical.  It was true in fighting also, and she suddenly
realized she was letting Omar win.  Or he was hypnotizing her with his eyes right
now, which stared at her intently.  She saw before her a beautiful man whom she
did not want to harm.  He was charming as a snake.  He was as beautiful as a Greek
statue, with the firelight on his body. 

Michelle forced herself to conjured up pictures of her
best friend, Heather, almost drowned in the waves; of herself, sliced open and bleeding
in the hotel room in Las Vegas; of Suzanne, raped and tortured by Samson Stoker;
of the poor woman who had lived above her, all alone, raped and killed in her own
apartment.  She thought of the confused victims dragged from their own unique and
wonderful potential lives by drugs that Omar distributed; misleading them with poisons
labeled as natural herbs so that he could make a fortune on their downfall.

She also felt sad for Omar.  That one so gifted with beauty,
physical prowess and intelligence should be marred by a mind filled with lurking
blackness and greed. 

"Why are you are crying, Michelle?" Omar asked.

Michelle frowned, she knew she didn't have tears in her
eyes.  He had read her thoughts.  "I don't want to hurt you, Omar."