I take a big bite and edge slowly along, clutching the gray countertop until I can take a seat at the breakfast bar. Before I even settle in, I have another bite of chocolate in my mouth, and my head thumps down onto the cold, hard Formica. Colors roll into one another as my system tries to reset.
After all this time, I still don’t understand why some uses of my gifts will drain me this way. While others—the incessant, stupid cupid matches, for example—I could do for hours on end. It’s annoying. Someone out there is laughing maniacally knowing they set me up this way.
There was a time when it wouldn’t matter that I was helping people with their trivial problems. That was a loooong time ago. But good God almighty, it’s getting old dealing with the same old boring questions day in and day out for as long as I have.
I’d give my left boob to finally be able to answer some of my own damn questions for a change. Today, I’d start with who the hell that guy is and why the hell was he in my house.
Then I’d track his sorry ass down and make him buy me a new shoe and fork up the cash for some cranial massage work because, damn, my head is killing me.
I suppose after that, I’d move on to the ones I’ve been trying to answer my whole known life.
The floorboard behind me squeaks a little too loudly—right as a sunburst flashes through my vision and the darkness consumes it.
Tap, tap, tap…
For some reason, my head lulls to the side as I try to place the sound. It’s familiar but doesn’t register in my brain. My eyelids are heavy, weighted down by the over-exertion of using my abilities—and something else. My forehead thumps, and I try to reach for it, only to find my arms as heavy as my eyelids.
My eyes flicker open, but I can’t keep them that way—they roll in my head and darkness consumes me in twinkling bursts.
After a few moments, I pry my eyes open again, raising my head to damn near upright.
“Good lord, took you long enough,” a man says, from across the room. He’s sprawled across my couch, one leg draped over the arm, as he leans back, placing an elbow on the cushion behind him. He has an oddly put-together air about him as his leather jacket falls gently open, revealing his sophisticated style not many straight men know how to pull off.
His arrogance rolls off him in waves. He knows he looks good and he’s perfectly comfortable with it. Hell, I don’t need to be psychic to pick up on any of that.
The guy drums his fingertips slowly across the single pane window behind him.
Tap, tap, tap…
“Who in the hell are you?” I finally spit out. “And why are you in my house?”
Finally removing his hand from my window, he spins around to face me head on.
“Now here I was thinking you should know all those details already,” he says, as the corner of his mouth slides into an obnoxious smirk. The trimmed, dark goatee adorning his face accentuates his cheekbones and broad jaw. The deep brown bordering on black from the top of his head lacks the flashes of red his facial hair has pulled from his genetics.
I glare back at him.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
His dark eyes twinkle mischievously, inciting the desire to want to punch him right in his smug little face. Instead, I sit up straighter and fight to keep my head upright.
“I said, who in the hell are you?” I repeat, but more slowly with the hopes he’ll actually understand the friggin’ question. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“Apparently, neither do you,” he says smugly, shrugging his shoulders.
He’s right—I get absolutely nothing from him. No name, no general motive. Not even the food he ate for lunch or the last time he took a piss.
I tilt my head to the side, trying to clear the fog from my brain.
“I tried to tell them you were likely a fake, but honestly, I didn’t know it would be so easy,” the man says, his eyebrows furrowed. “Kinda glad, considering the time constraints and all.”
“How about speaking in English here, buddy? Because I’m lost,” I say through clenched teeth.
Despite the complete zilch I’m able to read from him, there’s a strange electricity in the room. Almost as though he’s blocking me with a feedback loop, or some sort of electromagnetic something or other.
Damn, I really should pay more attention to the new-fangled science terminology.
“I don’t need your damn help,” he says, standing up from the couch in a single, graceful move. “Especially when you’d be wasting my time and their money.”
He flings a manila packet across the room to my lap and slowly crosses his arms.
Pressing my hands to the envelope, images of the little girl from this morning suddenly start rolling in—Esther. She’s not alone; someone has moved her. Nearby is a false door of some kind; probably the one she was led through. She’s not hurt, but I sense plans being made in the room adjacent to hers. She’s scared shitless—she knows she’s been gone too long and her parent’s are going to be so worried… The truth is, she doesn’t have much time. They’re planning to move her again—sell her to someone who takes children for a living and prostitutes them. The man with the puppies—Brent—he’s not the real man the cops should be looking for. He was a patsy, thanks in part to his naive nature.
Now that I’m away from Ted’s guilt, I see that now.
There’s a small home by the river—it’s not one of those fancy new multi-million dollar builds, though. It’s a well-kept 1980’s style, complete with the original orange shag carpet and olive-green walls.
“Oh my god—she—she’s not with the man with the puppies. He was the lure. They’re looking in the wrong place,” I say without being able to stop myself.
The smug man pulls up short, and for a brief moment, I fight the urge to be the one to smirk.
“What did you say?” he asks, his eyes wide.
“I don’t have time for this. I have to get this information to the police,” I say, unable to shake the vision of the carpet. There have been many kids who’ve been kept there over the years. Far too many.
The man rushes to my side, concern sweeping across his features.
“You’d better not be pulling my chain. How would you know all that?” he asks.
“I—I saw it when you threw the packet at me. Esther’s in a cabin by the river. I need to get these details to Detective Radovich so we can locate it. She doesn’t have much time. There’s a man—someone the family’s never seen—he’s the one who—” I say, pulling up short.
I blink back the surprise.
“Don’t stop there, what else?” the man says, leaning in.
“Hang on, who are you?” I say. “I don’t even know why the hell I’m telling you all of this. You could be part of the whole scheme, for all I know.”
I clutch the packet and stand up. Backing away, I hold a hand out as he tries to follow.
“Back the hell off,” I warn.
“Okay, okay,” he says, holding his hands up, “name’s Blake Wilson. I’m Ted and Lacy Trundle’s friend,” he says. For a far too long and awkward moment, he holds my gaze.
“Friend? Since when do friends break into people’s houses?”
“Well, I’m also a private investigator—”
I cast my eyes to the floor, absently consuming this new information.
“Why on earth are you wasting your time with me? Shouldn’t you be out there doing your damn job?” I say, anger suddenly welling up.
“As a matter of fact, I am. I needed to know for sure you could be trusted,” he says. “You may have convinced Ted with whatever parlor trick you had up your sleeve today, but I can’t have someone working with me I can’t trust. I needed to know for sure. Hell, I’m still not entirely convinced.”
“Trust for what?” I say, pressing the packet to my chest. “As far as I’m concerned, between the two of us, I’m a goddamn saint. I haven’t accosted you or broken into your damn house. Besides, the one you really need t
o be concerned about is whoever took Esther.”
“Ordinarily, I’d say you were right. But before your talk with them today, Ted was convinced you were a charlatan. He was concerned about you impeding the case with some wild goose chase, but Lacy has been hellbent on bringing you in. This is their daughter, we’re talking about. Then something changed; whatever you said to him this morning had him confused, but he wanted me to confirm before I brought you in. I don’t need some fake psychic screwing up my investigation. I gotta know you are what they say you are. Or what they think you are, anyway. It didn’t seem, well until now, like you had anything special,” he admits. “But that coulda been an educated guess based on the packet.”
“Gee, thanks for your thorough analysis,” I say, making a face and flipping him the bird.
“You know what I mean. Every interaction with you has yielded absolutely nothing. You didn’t even know I’d come back into the home,” Blake says, reaching for his cellphone.
“No offense, but it doesn’t always work that way,” I say, glaring at him. “Sometimes I actually have to push myself to see things. Other times, they come easy.”
I let out a long sigh.
Why in the hell do I feel like I need to defend myself to this arrogant asshat?
“Fine. You’ll have to tell me more on the ride,” he says, pushing send on his phone.
“What?” I snort.
Holding up a finger, he walks a few steps away, waiting for someone on the other end to pick up. “Yeah, it’s me. Might be something to this psychic chick, but we’re gonna have to confirm. She thinks we’re looking in the wrong place. According to Diana we’re gonna need to refocus the search along the river. I’m bringing her in to go over satellite images now to see if her hunch pans out. Be there in a few.”
Blake ends the call and turns back to me.
“Ready to go?”
I fling the manilla packet back at him.
“Since the moment I got home, I’ve been assaulted by you twice, nearly passed out from using my abilities, not to mention knocked out by you—god, I probably have a lump on my forehead now, thanks by the way—and interrogated like a criminal. I think I need a damn minute to regroup.”
Blake’s deep brown eyes widen and his dark eyebrows tug in.
“I didn’t knock you out. You passed out as I walked back in.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Look, you said it yourself, we don’t have much time. If Esther’s with this man at the river, we have to get our asses moving. If things really are going down the way you say they are, then this should be super easy. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the statistics for missing kids and the chances of being found alive, but if I do—”
I hold up a hand, “No need. I’m well aware.”
“Well, good. Then you know we need to figure out which house we’re dealing with and we need to know now. If you’re as real as you claim to be—I need you to come with me so we can corroborate your story.”
“Story?” I say, my mouth popping open.
“You know what I mean,” Blake says. “We gotta help her.”
His eyes plead with mine and I can’t help but be a little moved by it. I mean, here’s a guy who has only a friendship connection to the family…but he’s genuinely concerned about finding her in one piece. It’s written all over his face.
“Yeah, yeah okay. Let’s go,” I agree, walking over to him. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
As soon as I walk toward him, I’m instantly dizzy, and reach for the front of my head.
“You okay?” Blake asks. “I swear, I tapped you on the back to get your attention and you passed out. Your head slammed on the kitchen counter. I didn’t expect you to pass out like that.”
He reaches for my arm, hoisting me up and helping me walk along with him.
“I swear you knocked me out,” I say, shaking my head.
“I don’t know what kinda man you think I am, Diana, but I don’t make a habit of knocking people out when I don’t have to,” he says snorting.
“Is that so?” I say, crinkling my face, and shaking my head. Cobwebs and tendrils from passing out threaten to consume what’s left of my consciousness.
“Just because I didn’t knock you out doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation. There was information I needed, so I set ya on the chair and waited for you to come around,” he says, reaching for the front door.
“Smooth. So you’re a ‘take advantage’ kinda guy,” I mutter.
“Lady, seriously, you ain’t got the first clue about the kinda guy I am. Seems like you can’t get a single fix on me at all—which is a bit questionable as a proclaimed psychic don’t you think?” he growls.
Clearly, I touched a nerve.
“You know what, let’s get moving. The sooner we’re there, the sooner I can identify the property, and the sooner Esther can be found,” I say.
And the sooner I can get the hell away from you and never have to see your sorry, perfect ass again.
Chapter 3
MAYBE IT WAS STUPID to assume we were heading down to the police station. But that’s exactly what I did. What a moron. I blame it on post-ability blackout or something.
We’ve left the safety of the city I know and love—only to enter a wooded area with winding dirt roads.
“Where in the hell are you taking me?” I ask when I reclaim my bearings.
Blake sighs deeply and shoots me a sideways glance.
“What? It’s a reasonable question,” I say, not even trying to mask my alarm.
“We’re heading back to my place, Diana,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road.
My fingertips fly to my forehead and I scratch at my eyebrow. The lump on my forehead itches.
Dammit, my abilities have certainly picked a fine time to go on hiatus. Never—not once have I ever been caught off guard quite so many times. Especially not in one day and sure as hell not by the same damn person. How do normal people do it?
“Why exactly are we going there?” I say, squinting my eyes at him.
“I have all of my specialized equipment back there. If you think we’re gonna get the details we need outta the Helena PD, you’ve sorrily overestimated the intelligence of their detectives. Why do you think I was brought in?” Blake says, a hint of amusement playing at his tone.
He clearly enjoys making me uneasy…as well as flashing his high regard for his own intelligence.
Narcissistic ass.
“You know, you coulda been upfront to begin with,” I say, my eyes flitting to the passing trees beyond the confines of his Range Rover.
“I coulda,” he says, nodding in agreement. “But then again, you never asked.”
“Ugh,” I groan.
Taking a deep breath, I lean back, pressing hard into the headrest of the seat. More than anything, I want to find the little girl, make sure she’s safe, and slide back to my ordinary, everlasting life. Not to mention, get away from this guy.
I take back everything I said about wanting more of a challenge than ordinary people and their mundane requests. I’d take all of it over this, any day.
Could my abilities be on the fritz now? Or worse…slipping away after the ritual last month, too?
Would that really be so bad? I mean, after all these years, it might actually be a blessing.
I sit up straighter in my seat, suddenly curious.
“What are you doin’?” Blake asks, his eyes flitting to me.
“What’s it to you?” I say, casting a glance of indignation.
Oddly enough, he chuckles, “Fair enough. We’re almost there. You know, in case you’re curious.”
“Well, yippee skippy. If we were gonna take much longer I woulda said there was no point in looking for the girl,” I say, far snippier than I originally intend.
Still sitting upright, I close my eyes and focus on Esther.
Can I sense her if I try?
In
stantly, flashes inundate my mind—moments of calm before the oncoming storm. She sits alone in a room, playing with a puppy; her insides are coiling with guilt and worry, knowing exactly how much trouble she could be in—but still trying to believe it will be okay. The sensations are odd—a juxtaposition of her innocence, and something much more malevolent lingering to the outskirts of her awareness. The man on the other side of the wall has horrible intentions, but she doesn’t have the frame of reference for any of it.
Shuddering, I wrap my arms around myself.
Blake pulls the car up to a small Tudor home, partially hidden by the large oaks in his front yard. Light cascades from the oversized windows, illuminating the dormant grass, and guiding the way to the front door.
I reach for the car handle, but Blake hits the locks and grabs my left hand, pulling me up short. His hand is warm—bordering on hot—and it makes me shiver in the chill of the cold night.
“Do me a favor. Let me do the talking, okay? You’re here to guide us to which house we need to get into,” he says, his eyes suddenly serious. Any previous hints of mischievousness fading away.
“No promises.”
I’m not sure who the hell’s inside he’s so afraid I’m gonna talk to, but I hope it’s a wife or something. I’d love to watch him squirm after the hell he’s put me through today.
I tug my hand from his and exit the Rover. Without a glance back, I walk confidently up the stone steps to the entrance and wait for him to unlock the massive front door.
My strength is returning, and the crisp night air and moonlight continues to do me some good.
Blake walks up a few moments behind and simply pushes open the door—no keys required.
“You may enter,” he says, smirking.
“Right,” I mutter, ushering myself past the arm he’s swung outward—offering me inside.
“Aiden, we’re here,” Blake calls out, his voice bouncing around the small, empty entryway.
I flit my eyes around. The majority of the house is as barren as the entry, despite the character and charm of the outside of the home.
The Chronicles of the 8th Dimension - Limited Edition Box Set (4 Books): A Supernatural Thriller Box Set Page 8
