by A J Sherwood
“In the next thirty minutes or so, we’ll likely leave. But I do have groceries, I promise.”
“I have seen your fridge, Jonathan. You do not have enough in there to feed yourself and my boy for three days. I promise you this. I’ll do some shopping. Your key is in its normal spot?”
Jon, I think, realized he was in a losing battle and threw up a hand. “Yes, it is.”
“Good. You don’t worry, I’ll have things stocked by the time you’re back. And Don, you call or text me with updates. I want to know how he does.”
“Yes ma’am,” I responded, because I was not stupid.
“Good. You both be safe. Love you, bye.”
I met his eyes, grinning openly. “You had to know that’s how the conversation would go.”
“I really should have, yes,” he agreed with a shake of his head. “Eat. We apparently do not want leftovers; there will be no room for them.”
“Not with Mom intent on stocking the fridge,” I agreed equably and dove back into the lasagna.
9
Driving from Clarksville to Nashville was about an hour’s drive in good traffic, which we fortunately hit at this time of the evening. Still, driving that distance multiple times in one day was tiring for everyone involved, and none of us looked forward to our destination, which made it worse. Donovan gave me a break by taking the wheel, which I appreciated. Garrett was happy with the dinner we’d packed for him, at least, munching through it with gusto.
I really didn’t want to make this drive. Really, really did not want to. Today had been something of an emotional rollercoaster, and all I wanted to do was snuggle in with Donovan with a good movie and just be for a while. My nerves were still stretched taut about Donovan potentially moving in. I was glad we’d talked about it today, though, if for no other reason than Donovan having a come-to-Jesus with Rodger. I was sick of him putting his opinion into my relationship. I was just sorry I’d missed the show. That talk had been a long time coming, and well overdue, in my opinion.
Part of me felt I should have handled it. I still harbored a little embarrassment over Rodger’s actions. But unlike the first time Donovan intervened, my lover was well aware of the score. He had as much stake in this as I did, and that changed things for me. Should I have been able to handle Rodger and his asinine opinions? Yes. But I refused to get embarrassed that Donovan put the fear of God in him instead. Sometimes, you just had to pick your battles.
That was the upside to all of this. The downside being I was still wrangling with my nerves. Donovan stayed over often, sometimes two days in a stretch, so I didn’t expect trouble anytime soon. But what about next week? The week after? Was a month really a long enough stretch of time to determine if this was a good idea or not? All these thoughts tangled and whirled in my head; no matter how I tried to get my fears to shut up, they kept throwing out more and more possible scenarios of how many ways this could go wrong.
Halfway there, Jim’s cell phone rang. It was a relief to have something else to focus on, and I listened hard to the one-sided conversation. The sound from the back seat distorted a little, but I could hear him well enough.
“Hey, Carol. Yeah, hang on. Guys, we have an update from her.” Jim put the phone on speaker and held it between me and Donovan. “Alright, Carol, you’re on speaker. Shoot.”
“It’s not good news, unfortunately. I was able to trace the last location of the crowbar—”
We all hissed at the word ‘crowbar.’
“Yeah, you heard me right. The fucker used a crowbar on her. The poor lady didn’t stand a chance. But in this case, it didn’t help. The last location of the weapon was a vehicle parked nearby. Not his; it’s actually a company car belonging to a business on this street. The last employee to use it apparently didn’t lock the vehicle. Our unknown subject just stepped in, used it as cover while he waited, then hopped out again and struck.”
I swore, mostly to myself, irritated. “Was that just luck, him finding an unlocked car?”
“We’ve no idea. None of the cameras on that street caught him. They’re all facing the wrong way. Maybe he tried multiple cars until he found one unlocked.”
It could be either possibility. I knew I left the car doors unlocked unless I had my gun in the glove compartment. There was nothing in my car worth stealing, and I’d had a punk break a window to get in a few years back. It was cheaper to replace whatever crap they stole from the interior than to replace a window. I knew quite a few people shared that opinion, too.
“Okay, Carol, good try,” Jim responded wearily. “Damn, I’d hoped you’d give them the break they needed on this case.”
“Yeah, me too. Sorry, Jon. Anything I can do to help?”
“I’ve got him,” Donovan assured her. “And my mom’s already making enough food to last us through Armageddon, so the kitchen will be stocked. We’ll be alright for the next few days.”
“Lucky bastards. Your mom is an amazing cook. Alright, just keep me updated. Bye.”
I’d hoped Carol could make my reading superfluous, but of course my luck didn’t run that good. Donovan hated this whole idea, and I wasn’t exactly jumping up and down for joy either, but it looked like our hands were tied. Jim wouldn’t say this, but by law, we were required to pull the stops if our regular readings weren’t working. Unless it endangered our health, of course. He’d deflected as much as he could for my sake, but with the situation heating up like this, there must have been some arm twisting going on behind the scenes.
Donovan raised his voice a little so it would carry to the back seat and told Garrett exactly what to do when I was done with the reading. I’d be promptly tucked into the back of this vehicle, in my ghetto blanket fort, as soon as Donovan could extract me from the hospital. It would be the only safe place to put me until I could crawl into my own bed. Jim perhaps belatedly realized having another person in the car with me wouldn’t do any good and called Carol back, requesting that she meet us at the hospital and give him a ride home.
As we hit the first sign for Clarksville, I popped the Psy-Aid into my mouth and swallowed it with a swig from my water bottle. In order to go level three, it took a chemical enhancement and about twenty minutes of meditation to pry open my psyche enough to get into someone else’s head. The pill itself was specifically developed for psychics. There was a long list of things in it, most of which I couldn’t pronounce, but it was basically the psychic version of marijuana. It gave us a high, letting our controls relax enough that we were more open to the auras around us.
I was more than a little spacey on it, honestly, and didn’t like being on the med. But without it, I couldn’t force my guard low enough to leave myself wide open to auras. Nothing about that process was pleasant. Lying on a bed of electric needles probably felt better.
Garrett leaned in between the seats, head nearly level with my shoulder. “Jon, what exactly can you see in someone’s head like this? Like, are you reading surface thoughts or…?”
I answered as Donovan switched lanes, preparing to get off at our exit. “Or. Not really thought, but memory. The most recent memories will be fresh in their consciousness; I’ll focus on those. Then, if I don’t find what I’m looking for, I’ll move further back in time. I don’t expect this to take long, really; she’s been in a coma for almost three weeks now. Her most recent memory will be the day she was attacked, so this won’t take but five minutes.” Fortunately. The less time I spent in a reading, the better.
“But if you wanted, you could read every memory in a person’s head?” he asked, tone intrigued.
Why did everyone ask that? “Theoretically, yes. In practice, no. My psyche has to be completely open in order to manage that, and it’s painfully intense. I’ve never managed to read for more than a half hour, and doing so left me seriously drained. It would take hours to read through someone’s whole history, and I will never do it. There’s no cause to, for one, and it would probably kill me if I tried.”
“So, veto that idea.�
�� Garrett nodded, satisfied, and sat back. “And if Detective Prick suggests it, punch him.”
“Yes,” Donovan agreed with a feral smile.
“No,” Jim corrected, exasperated. “Do not tell him that; you’re not allowed to punch a detective. Gentlemen. This is the part where you nod and agree.”
I glanced at both of them. No agreement. “Yeah, I can see why you two were holy terrors in the army.”
Groaning, Jim sat back and muttered, “This is going to go so poorly.”
The hospital was relatively quiet at this time of the night. Or at least this wing of it. This was where the long-term patients stayed, so while the white hallways were brightly lit, the individual patient rooms were dark, as people tried to sleep. I’d spent the last twenty minutes sitting in the car, out in the parking lot, meditating and letting the Psy-Aid kick in. I felt the buzz of the medicine, the loosy-goosey feeling slowly stealing over my senses until I hit that high of ‘it’s all fine’ that came hand in hand with the drug.
It skewed the world, making it brighter and more painful, but also more alive at the same time. As if I always had on smudged goggles and only now saw the world with the blinders off. It gave me a giddy edge, a euphoria, although I tamped it down. I knew from experience that if I gave in to that feeling now, I wouldn’t be able to focus.
My feet skipped more than walked down the hallway and I frowned down at them. Bad feet. No skippy-lou-la. Walk steady, that’s good. Good feet.
Donovan moved at my side like a wraith. He controlled his expression well, but I saw him as he was—a bundle of grim determination, concern, and anger about the situation. And gold, so much gold, as his love overshadowed everything else. He was so sexy. Shame I wouldn’t be able to pin him to the wall later.
Garrett was on our heels, also determined and concerned, but largely curious. I saw more of him this way and stared at him with interest as we walked. He still shone bright to me—I saw everything as I had before, but more. More intensely, and the more subtle emotions as well, the imprints on life I couldn’t see with a level one reading.
He caught my staring and turned his head, watching me in turn. Flashes of concern. Amusement. “You okay there, Bane?”
“You’re very cool,” I told him seriously.
His eyebrows went up a little, amusement curling the edges of his mouth. “Thanks?”
Frowning, I looked at Donovan. “Did you know he’s cool? I can see all of his coolness. I understand now why you like him.”
Donovan found me amusing too, for some reason. “Yeah, babe, he’s plenty cool. Garrett, stop snickering, he told you the drugs make him spacey.”
“Yeah, but this is so much funnier than I expected. Does he normally just blurt stuff like that out?”
“Not typically.” Donovan took my hand and squeezed it gently. “You just keep up with me, okay?”
I liked holding hands with him. I was okay with this.
“I like holding hands with you too, honey.”
“Did I say that out loud?” It didn’t bother me if I did.
“Yeah. You just keep walking with me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Jim moved ahead of the group to the one doorway with someone in it. Hall looked rumpled, tired, his meridian lines a tangle of irritation, outrage, frustration, and borderline fixation. Never a good combination. I prayed I’d be able to give him something from this reading, otherwise the man would blow his top. I very, very carefully made sure my mouth stayed shut by biting my bottom lip.
“Hall,” Jim greeted neutrally. “Jon’s ready. Let’s step inside and get this over with quickly.”
“Fine.” Hall pulled his phone out, presumably ready to record.
The two men entered, giving me room to come inside, Donovan acting like a living shield between me and all the electronics. They set up at the back of the room, their backs to the wall, cameras turned on and pointing toward the bed.
Our victim lay deathly still under the pale blue blanket, flat on her back, the only movement the up and down of her chest. Her head was wrapped in white gauze, a tube down her throat, and an IV in her right arm.
I moved to her right, away from the equipment, and sat down carefully on the stool there. It would be easier to do this while touching her, so I picked up her free hand. It felt ice cold to me, and I chaffed it automatically to get some blood circulation going, pity rising in me. This poor woman. I hoped she’d wake up soon, not just for her own sake, but her family’s as well.
“Are we starting?” Hall demanded impatiently.
I shot him a look, wanting to tear into him, but I bit it back. I was here. Better to just get it over with so I could go home. Donovan seemed equally irritated but took up wall space next to Jim, staying out of the way of both cameras. Jim, I noticed, had his own handheld camera angled to not only catch me and the woman, but Hall as well. And didn’t that say quite a bit about his opinion of the detective?
“This is August 8th, 7:30 p.m. I’m Jonathan Bane, Psychic with Psy Consulting Agency. License number 1096643. I will now perform a reading on Alicia Perez. The consent form for this reading was signed by Ms. Perez’s family and is on record.” With the procedures out of the way, I turned back to her and focused intently.
Doing this was never pleasant. My aura was open to every person in the room, and to a lesser degree, every person near this room. I felt their emotions and auras press up against my own, mingling with mine in unpleasant ways. Throwing myself into a vat of spikes likely felt similar to this. I just didn’t have the physical wounds to show for it.
The auras pressed against me were not only painful but disorienting, especially now that Donovan was no longer physically holding onto me. It felt like vertigo, even with me sitting upright. I could still feel his bond to me, but it was muted under the onslaught of everything else.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t ask him to keep hold of me. All I wanted to do was center myself on him, and that would make it impossible to perform the reading. My best bet was to concentrate and get through this as quickly as possible.
Focusing on Alicia, I anchored first physically, using my hold on her hand to help latch onto her aura instead of the dozens of others beating at my psyche. It was not unlike wrestling with a live eel. Her aura pressed against me with almost visual sparks as it grated along mine, and I instinctively flinched at the pain. Oww. Blinking tears from my eyes, I focused and puffed out a breath of relief. Okay, got her.
She was not responsive to me, of course, but that actually made this somewhat easier. Her aura lay open to my sight, a pretty display, like a bright sunset. I liked it; it was captivating. A smile bloomed over my face, I could feel it, and I settled into the reading a bit more. It was always more fun to read someone you knew you’d like.
I touched her with my own psyche, pushing through the outer wall of her aura, reaching for her unconscious mind. With her asleep, it was a little difficult to forge a connection. Elusive, like catching a mosquito.
Ah, there. There you are, you slippery little eel. Come here, play with me.
Got it. As soon as I caught it, those electric sparks flared up and I flinched, almost losing it again. How did telepaths handle this? It was so intense, and the human mind didn’t like being pried at, so it instinctively fought back to kick out any intruder. Alligator wrestling had to be easier than this. Tenaciously, I dug in, gritting my teeth until I felt rooted enough that I could pry into her more recent memories. It felt akin to cranking an old movie camera, frame by frame, searching for the footage I wanted. I saw the flash of pavement in front of her eyes before darkness, and grimly went further back. Alright, yes, this was a better starting point.
Aloud, I reported what I saw, my voice hoarse under the strain. “She’s walking to her car, it’s nearing sunset. She has her keys in hand, they’re jiggling a little. Her head’s turning back and forth, panning the area. She’s wary, she’s heard of the attacks, she wants to defend herself if someone approaches her.”
&n
bsp; Garrett muttered, “She was on the lookout and he still got the drop on her?”
Yes, that gave me chills as well. Especially seeing it through her mind’s eye. I felt what she felt in that moment, only it was more terrifying, as I knew how this memory would end. It was like watching a horror movie. The protagonist herself was aware of the danger, but not aware she would be the next victim, even as the audience could see the monster’s approach.
“There’s only a few cars left at this point, she’s confident no one else is in the parking lot with her. She hits the fob to unlock the car door. It beeps, she adjusts the purse in her hand, ready to open it—sharp pain on the back of her head. Darkness. I’m sorry, that’s it, that’s all there is of the memory. She didn’t even hear him approach.”
“There has to be something,” Hall demanded, his anger making him loud. I flinched at the onslaught of both voice and emotion. Ow.
I didn’t want this to be in vain either, so I re-caught her recollection of the event. My head cringed at the pain; doing it again wasn’t any easier than the first time. Once I had a firm grip on it, I had to rewind in order to revisit the memory. I focused on all the sensorial input, trying to find any scrap of a clue. Shaking my head, I withdrew my hand from hers. Ah, relief. That felt better, although only by degrees. “She didn’t sense him. Not in any way.”
Tired, I stopped trying to read her. Without that input to distract me, I could feel the drain on my body. My head, neck, and shoulders were taut with strain and forming a knot of tension, threatening the devil of a headache. The fluorescent lights overhead were murder on my eyes, which felt like they were going to burn right out of my sockets. That didn’t even account for the overload of information I got from every man in the room. They were so much sharper, louder than before in their emotions and desires, their histories, their overall auras. It was like being on a psychedelic rollercoaster ride but without the guardrails. The high of the drug was drowned out under the pain, and I could only feel uncomfortably exposed.
