Stroke of Death

by Dale Mayer

  “Now look out of the corner of your eye.”

  He turned a bit, looked out the corner of his eye, and, sure enough, there was a yellow glow. “Is that yellow goldenness yours?”

  “Yes,” he said calmly. “I’m outside. I dashed in to take a look. I’d like to talk to you.”

  “And you didn’t have another way to do it?”

  “You seem to need proof,” he said, “so—”

  “I’m coming,” Richard said, and he walked out the front door. “Where am I coming to?” Then he turned and up front was a sports car, with a man in a beautiful suit leaning against it, who stared at him. Richard walked up and said, “Stefan?”

  Stefan gave a clipped nod. “I am, indeed.”

  “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “An energy is all around her,” he said. “And it’s not all hers.”

  “And that means what?”

  “You see? You’re one of those guys who uses instincts, gut feelings, and that little bit of energy that you can see as a way to do your job,” he said. “But, if you would open your eyes and see what’s really there, you’d be incredible at your job,” he said.

  Immediately Richard could feel the anger sparking. “Who the hell are you to tell me that?”

  “Just Stefan,” he said. “Somebody who sees a whole deeper level than most people are expecting.”

  “Okay,” he said. “And what is it that I’m supposed to see?”

  “The energy that’s not hers.”

  “Is that normal?” He turned to look back at the building. “You could have told me this while I was in there, so I could look.”

  “Yes, but you have to separate it by shades. I counted no less than seventeen people.”

  “Jesus. That seems like a lot.” He stared at Stefan. “And yet you don’t seem terribly shocked.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “I’m saddened, but I’m not shocked.”

  “Saddened?”

  “Because it’s much harder for her to function if she’s also carrying all these people.”

  “And who are they?”

  “In most cases, I would say that they are likely to be people who she cares about, with a few more unsavory energies in the mix.”

  “I’m not sure she cares intimately about anybody in her world, now that Elena is gone. Is there anybody else?”

  Stefan smiled and laughed. “It’s one of those things that we do unconsciously in any relationship, intimate or not,” he said. “Generally, if you have more than a cursory relationship, their energy is attached to you. That will include people you work with, who you knew growing up …”

  “Okay,” he said. “So, is it wrong for her to have these seventeen people?”

  “Not necessarily all are wrong, but some of them? Yes.”

  “Such as?”

  “You’ll never convince her that carrying something of Elena’s energy is wrong.”

  “I doubt anybody would feel that way,” he said. “Doesn’t it help to keep them close?”

  “Yes,” he said, “it definitely does. And, whenever she did a bit of work with Elena, they would mix their energies. Cayce would use Elena’s light in order to make everything glow around the model. And then, as Elena would step away, it would be almost like a light dimmed the painting behind her. Elena used her own energy in the painting to make it glow as well.”

  “And that was part of the artistic show that the model herself would put on?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, “and now, without Elena, Cayce can’t do that. Or at least not as well, not as easily.”

  “Which is why her last few have seemed different.”

  “Yes. And nobody’ll understand why,” he said. “But she understands, and she’s looking for another source, so she’s trying out other energy relationships. Seeing if she can work with them.”

  “Is she hurting them?” He turned to glance back in her direction.

  “No,” Stefan said emphatically. “In no way is she hurting these people.”

  “So Cayce’s requesting these energies?”

  “Most of them, yes,” he said, “but not all. And it’s the other ones that worry me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because a couple of them are very dark, and I think that’s what makes her tired and is holding her down, making it hard for her to sleep.”

  “What can she do about it?”

  “She has to toss those energies,” Stefan said quietly. “But she has to do it in such a way that she doesn’t scare them, so there’s no backlash. She has to keep herself safe at all costs.”

  “How dangerous is it?”

  “Very,” Stefan said. “The ultimate worst-case scenario is the loss of her life.”

  That message was bad enough, but then Stefan added one more cryptic message. “One energy is there that—” and he stopped his words abruptly.

  Richard leaned forward. “You can’t stop there.”

  Stefan shrugged. “I can’t be sure it’s the problem.”

  “Can’t be sure of what?” Richard bit off.

  “I can’t be sure,” Stefan said, measuring his words carefully, “but something about that one energy I recognize.”

  Richard sank back on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. “In what way?”

  “An old case,” he said. “The problem with this is, energy changes, but the signature is always the same. This signature is different.”

  Confused at the new terms, Richard just stared at him. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” he said, “that I’m thinking, and I can’t be sure right now, but I’m thinking that this might be somebody who’s related to somebody who I encountered in an old case.”

  “Are you saying, something like a criminal’s son?”

  “Or brother or father or mother, et cetera,” Stefan said. “But I haven’t seen this before, so I can’t define it.”

  “An awful lot of vagueness here,” Richard said.

  Stefan gave him a beautiful smile and said, “In energy work, nothing’s definite.” Stefan added more cryptic layers to the conversation. “They would have been attracted to the bright energy she’s putting out.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Richard said in confusion.

  Stefan continued, “She’s looking for the same energy she had with Elena, so she’s asking the world around her for that same energy. From people who are close to or very compatible, loving, and caring. She’s bringing them into her world so she can find one, two, three, or more models she can work with. I think, at this point, she doesn’t want to rely on just one.”

  “Well, that makes sense, having just lost the one,” Richard said, “but that doesn’t explain why this other energy would be attracted.”

  “Because it’s seeking something. Most dark energy is emptiness. Evil is empty inside. They try to fill it. Because they can’t reach and access the good energy, even though they try really hard, they generally fill it with the negative energy, because that’s easy. That’s what they’re used to. It’s readily accessible. It’s much easier to go rob, rape, murder, to refill their well, than it is to turn around and do an about-face of their basic character and reach for these good energy feelings, like doing something good for others. You know? Helping people, really sending love out to the world instead of hate.”

  “So, by the extension of her requesting this good loving energy, she’s attracting negative energy?” Richard wanted to be clear because this was freaky stuff.

  Stefan nodded. “That’s exactly it.”

  “So again, it’s not her fault.”

  “You need to stop thinking guilt, blame, fault, responsibility,” he said. “She does enough of that.”

  He leaned against the car and studied Stefan. “What is that supposed to help me with?”

  “It means, you need to look at the people around her,” he said, “and those who come into her world in the next week or two because they’re coming for a reason. She has a void in he
r life now with the loss of Elena. Cayce’s trying to fill it, and all these people want to be that person. And it won’t matter what means to an end they use to get there.”

  “Right,” Richard said. “You know what? On that note, I think I’ll head back inside and keep an eye on her.”

  Stefan straightened and said, “I’ll do a little more digging into old cases, see if I can figure out that connection.”

  “You do that,” Richard said. He turned and walked away.

  “Don’t forget,” Stefan called behind him.

  Richard spun and looked at him. “Forget what?”

  “To look at the energy,” he said in a low tone. “And that means, your gut needs to come into play. Your instincts need to be sharp. Something’s going on.”

  “Right,” Richard said. “Got it.”

  *

  Who the hell were those guys, he wondered. He studied the two powerful men, leaning against the car. They were the kind he hated. They were the kind who knew what they could do. They were pros and had that arrogance that made his back go up. They always thought that they were better than him, even though he was the one making his world happen, and they were just taking paychecks and doing whatever life dictated to them.

  Not him. No, not him. He was making his world happen. He smiled and turned, walked out of the building and away from them. They wouldn’t notice him. Chances are, they weren’t even looking in his direction anyway.

  He darted through the moving vehicles and headed across the road. He picked up a coffee and a hot dog from a vendor and kept on going. He’d be back in a little bit. He had a right to be back, after all. But more than that, he needed to be back. There was just something magical about watching her work, and he couldn’t let that go. No way he could let go of anything to do with her. It was an interesting problem, and one he was fully prepared to work on. He needed to touch that light, to have that light, to make it his, so that his art could be that—all of that.

  He took a bite of his hot dog, smiled down at it, and mumbled, “You might be cheap, but you’re definitely what I want right now.”

  And everyone needed comfort food now and then.

  Chapter 13

  It was another long heart-curling day. Was that because Cayce was trying desperately to get her emotions under control? Still, she managed to get the bulk of the Arctic Ice installation done.

  As she stared at it, a proud smile on her face, Frankie came up behind her and said, “This one is extraordinary.”

  She laughed at him. “The last one with the kids was extraordinary,” she said, “but this one is definitely classy.”

  “It’s a tie with the other one,” he admitted. “It’s really stunning.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  “What about the models?”

  She frowned. “I want to let this dry, have another day, two maybe, and then I’ve got to pick a model.”

  “So definitely not Naomi?”

  She shook her head. “No. Definitely not. Tomorrow morning I’m taking a look at some models in person.”

  He hesitated.

  She looked at him. “I never did get the pictures from you.”

  He looked at her in surprise, quickly pulled out his phone, then grimaced. “Sorry. It’s in my Drafts folder.” He hit a couple buttons, then said, “Okay. I’ve sent them.”

  “It might be too late for this one,” she warned.

  He nodded. “I know. Just if you could think about it.”

  “Will do.” She took off her smock, set it aside to dry, and said, “Remind me when we are back in the office that it might be time to order another half-dozen smocks.”

  He chuckled. “How about if we don’t? If you would wash them in between …”

  “But, by the time they have the paint on them, and they have all the other mix of paints on them,” she said, “they don’t really wash.”

  “That one is stiff now,” he said, pointing out the way the fabric wouldn’t hang.

  “I know,” she said. “That’s why I need to order another batch.”

  “I presume that’s something Anita does for you?”

  She nodded. “They should be on reorder, or whatever, that automatic ordering system. Is that what everybody uses these days?”

  “You’re right, one delivery a month.”

  “It is what it is,” she said. “The cost of doing business.”

  “You make good money,” he said. “You should order what is needed. Then, at least, you don’t have to put one on if it doesn’t make you feel good.”

  “How did you know that was often the determining factor, as to whether I wore the one I had or went to get a new one?”

  “Because you’re all about feelings,” he said. “Now maybe you’ll listen to me and go home and get some food and make it an early night.”

  “I had a good night last night,” she said. But she nodded, looked down at her paint-covered hands, even though she’d washed them several times already, and shook her head. “Definitely time for a shower with a big scrub brush again.”

  He grinned. “You could paint your nails. Then you would look like it was part of it,” he said.

  She looked at her nails that, even though she had scrubbed them, still had bits and droplets from splatter. “My hair is covered anyway,” she said.

  He turned, looked at her intently, and then chuckled. “It is, indeed.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “And, on that note, I’m heading home. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Aren’t you coming back here again?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ve got appointments at the gallery with the models first thing in the morning, and then I’ll be back here, probably eleven-ish, to see what else we need to finish up.”

  “When is this live?”

  “Next week Saturday,” she said.

  “Right. So my model has probably not got enough time.”

  “I’ll look when I get home. That’s the best I can do,” she said.

  He smiled, nodded, and said, “I just appreciate you taking the moment.”

  She gave him a small finger wave and headed to where her raincoat and purse and boots were.

  When she quickly dressed in her outer layers, it covered up a little bit of the paint. But not much. When she turned around, purse in her hand, she came face-to-face with Richard.

  He frowned at her, his gaze on her painted hair. “New fashion?”

  “I’m setting the trend,” she said blithely. “And obviously this is my look.”

  They both laughed, and, for that, she was also grateful. When he smiled, something spontaneous went through him, and she realized that was one of the same elements that she saw in Elena. The trouble was, with Richard, he didn’t let that part of him out all that often, whereas Elena lived in that spontaneous world, and her darkness didn’t come out very much.

  They all had the darkness. Everybody either hid it or reveled in it, but everybody had it.

  “Come on. Let’s get you home,” he said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “You don’t have to escort me home,” she said.

  “I know I don’t have to,” he said, “but I want to.” He held out his elbow.

  Surprise was the only reason she allowed herself to react, she followed her instincts, and she slipped her arm through his. She stepped forward and walked beside him. Feeling an intense gaze on her back, she turned to see Frankie staring at the two of them. She gave a half shrug and a smile, saying, “See you tomorrow, Frankie.” He lifted a hand, and she turned and walked out.

  “Is there something between you and Frankie?”

  “I already told you there wasn’t anything between us,” she said, “but I haven’t done something like this in a long time. So, of course, Frankie’s surprised, and especially that it’s you. Frankie’s now figuring out if it’s personal or business.”

  “And have you worked that out?”

  She stilled, but he dragged her forward anothe
r step. She continued to walk at his side. “Are you telling me there’s a choice?”

  “If you haven’t figured that out already,” he said, “you’re slow. And I know for a fact that you’re not slow.”

  “You don’t know me that well,” she said defensively.

  Once outside, he laughed.

  “How do you know I didn’t drive today?” she asked.

  “I was here this morning. Remember?”

  “Right,” she said.

  He led her toward a conservative-looking sedan. Surprised, she asked, “Ghost car?”

  He looked at her, grinned, and said, “No, it’s my own.”

  “This is not what I envisioned you driving.”

  “This is my work vehicle,” he said cheerfully. “I do have a Jeep for weekends and playtime.”

  At that, she couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Now that would make more sense to me. Please tell me that it’s some ultrabright color that’s the complete antithesis of this sedate conservative vehicle in front of me.”

  “Lime green. Does that work?”

  She stared at him in fascination. “Actually, that’s perfect! The artist in me definitely approves.”

  “When is this arctic showing?”

  “Next week Saturday,” she said. “My current problem is I need to find a model.”

  “Even in a pinch, you won’t use Naomi?”

  “No. Not even in a pinch. I will no longer use Naomi. Ever.”

  “And what about finding the others?”

  “I’m definitely interested in some. I’ll see them all in person tomorrow.”

  “I guess you need that, don’t you?”

  “People in pictures are one thing. Pictures can be tweaked, some more than others. In this case, I need to see the models. I need to see their skin tone. I need to see scars. I need to see tattoos,” she said with a one-armed shrug. “People hide all kinds of things, and, when you get to what they’re really like, we’ll deal with it. I don’t want to deal with it at the last minute. I want to know what I have going in.”

  “I presume you can cover it all up?”

  “Absolutely I can cover it all up, but it takes time, accuracy, and I may have to alter pictures. And, yes, I can do that in the moment, but why should I have to?”