A Ghost’s Story. Chapter 8.1
By: Wayne Hills.
Dr. Bukowski’s skill is rare; not enough to be considered truly unique in the world, but uncommon enough to be sought out by those who need authentic psychic abilities.
His power as a spirit medium allows him to speak freely with souls that have passed on from the world of the living. His gift first manifested the night his mother and father were brutally murdered; a side-effect of being forced to watch the loving couple who had given him life tortured and mutilated. Mercifully, his mind completely erased the bloody event from memory.
Medication, both physician and self-prescribed, hypnosis, even a few black magic spells from a coven of Wiccan who helped refine his gifts couldn’t help him remember what happened to his parents. It wasn’t until he was contacted by a Police Detective tracking down a lead on a horrific double homicide that he discovered the truth, and remembered every gruesome detail.
Det. Theo Loddi was investigating the murder of a retired couple who were discovered in their home eviscerated and partially devoured by their pack of rescued pets. Loddi found connections to a dozen similar killings, only one of which had a living witness; the thirty year old cold case of Dr. Eugene and Edith Bukowski. Their adolescent son, Jordan, was present, and although covered in his parent’s blood and his own excrement, was inexplicably unharmed.
A month before the future Dr. J. Bukowski left the physical world; Det. Loddi showed up at the doctor’s office to see if he could jog his memory and uncover any clues to the identity of the suspected serial killer. The moment the two men shook hands, adult Jordan remembered it all:
The hard patter of raindrops on the roof.
The open doorway to the street devoid of light.
The mysterious lost couple in need of help that came to his childhood home on that long ago forgotten night.
The tall man, wearing all black. The cape that fascinated the young impressionable boy. The red lit eyes that equally frightened him.
And there was his female blonde partner dressed all in white. Her long, shiny raincoat. Her platinum blonde hair, wrapped in a sheer scarf to protect it from the rain drops.
He saw the events through someone else’s eyes. A video was playing that only the doctor could see.
He felt a strange throbbing in his own forehead as he watched the man place his left thumb between young Jordan’s eyes and slowly trace a star pattern. Vividly he recalled how the touch made him very sleepy, how the woman talked gently to comfort him as the life was literally drained from his parents. Most important of all, he remembered her instructions. Just as a hypnotherapist can make a person quit smoking and awaken with no memory of the imbedded thought, she implanted a command. He was to forget everything about this hideous night. In exchange, he would be given a great gift, the power to speak to anyone who has passed on. Except of course, his own newly deceased parents.
She told him that in time his memory would return. Specifically she said, “Thirty years from today, a man will come to ask questions about this night. Upon the visitor’s touch, all knowledge of this evening’s events will come back.” She told him that his task would then be to seek out the person the caller inquired about.
There was one last instruction given to that young, blood splattered, boy that evening to remember and carry out. Much like a side-show hypnotist will leave a post hypnotic suggestion to cluck like a chicken with the snap of a finger, a seed was planted in that immature brain. A tiny thought lay smoldering, waiting to ignite and explode in a fury of rage and destruction.
When all the information that could be gleaned from the unsuspecting guest was uncovered, that older, wiser, stronger Jordan Bukowski was to kill the man whose touch brought back this night. He was to murder that evil man who made him remember the horrible massacre of his parents. Jordan was to slice him to pieces, and rip out his guts.
Three decades later to that very day, the eminent and respected Dr. Jordan Bukowski, did just that.