Black Jack Read Free Page A

her existence, isolated, blind and in terrible pain; nevertheless ferocious in the performance of her job.
    Another personality was created to house curiosity. ‘Never,’ he spoke firmly, ‘let her have questions. Questions belong to us. Do not look for answers. Answers do not belong to you. They belong to us.’ Holding her by the throat he injected an irritant into her larynx. The pain was so severe that the girl temporarily lost her voice. ‘You will never again be able to speak,’ he lied, and instantly that alter became mute. Another poor mute was given the task of remembering Dakota’s past. ‘If she remembers she will die. Do your job well.’
    When all the traits that were thought to be detrimental to his control of ‘the real Dakota’ had been locked away into a truly impressive myriad of alters, it was time to invoke the personas that would control access to her psychic abilities. It was vital that she have no access to her own powers in her daily life. He referred to the first such alter he created as ‘the powerful one’ or ‘the one who holds your powers’.
    ‘I am talking to Shekina,’ he said, using the imprinting gesture of rubbing her forehead just above the bridge of the nose. ‘ You hold all her psychic powers. She must never be allowed to use these powers. These powers belong to you. Only you. If she tries to use them you must stop her. If you fail to stop her, we will hurt you.’
    He hurt her.
    Then, he created a secondary alter called a key, so it would be impossible for her to either intentionally or accidentally access her own gift without this trigger alter. This gatekeeper he named Timu.
    ‘When you hear Timu you will know it is we who want you to use your powers. You will use your powers only as we tell you to. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes.’
     

Death to the weakling,
wealth to the strong!
     - Book of Satan 1:1
    One day the door of Dakota’s dank prison opened and a huge man enveloped in a cloud of lavender perfume approached her cage. Even though she had been programmed not to remember his face, for a bewildering moment, she was unaccountably terrified by the juxtaposition of his imposing military figure and the familiar smell. But then he smiled and it was an indescribably wonderful smile. It lit up his entire face and he seemed beautiful to her beyond anything she could imagine. There was no doubt in her child’s mind: her troubles were over. He was some sort of policeman who had come to save her.
    Schooner Klaus unlocked the cage and told her that he had come to take her away from that horrible place. After the abominable cruelty she had experienced she felt insanely grateful to him. When he gathered her nearly skeletal body into his clean, sweet-smelling arms she clung pitifully to his strong neck and emitted a low, frightened howl.
    ‘I know, I know,’ he soothed gently. ‘But everything is going to be all right now. You have been a good girl and you deserve good things from now on.’ With infinite tenderness he carried her down the bare corridors and into a rather odd room.
    The walls were purple, and from the black and white tiled floor sprouted three pillars of different heights, none of which quite reached the ceiling. Although she had the impression that there were no windows, yellow drapes drawn shut made it seem that there were.
    On a black stone platform in the middle of the room stood a marble bath with clawed feet. He carried her to it and she saw that it was half filled with fragrant water. Gently, and with kind words, he lowered her into it. The water was deliciously warm. He took off his jacket with all its gleaming medals and rolled up his shirtsleeves. With a washcloth he proceeded to wash her. He unclenched her fists and examined her fingers, blue with needle marks underneath the nails that ran from tip to root. She heard him sigh sorrowfully. For some time she remained with her eyes lowered, but as his soft, reassuring voice kept on repeating just