Clarity

by Kim Harrington

  “I’d really like to know when I can rent the room again,” the manager said.

  Gabriel took the key from him and began pulling a side of the yellow tape down. “It’s still a crime scene. We’ll let you know as soon as we can.”

  “But, see, there are people who would be willing to pay a premium to stay in this room. Murder groupies, you know.”

  “Sick,” I said.

  Gabriel tossed the guy a stern look, and the manager nodded and walked off.

  Gabriel entered the motel room first. I followed closely behind, a strange feeling churning in my stomach. I felt like I was watching myself act in a movie or remembering a dream. Once again, I was reminded of how much of a freak show my life was. Normal teenage girls were at home, hanging out with friends, watching TV, flirting on the phone with their boyfriends. I was in a murder room.

  Gabriel closed the door behind me. The blinds were drawn, casting most of the room in shadow. Gabriel flicked on the light switch and said, “This was the victim’s room.”

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

  I looked around. It was your typical cheap motel room. One king-sized bed (“We’re one hundred percent king-sized at the King’s Courtyard!”), a nightstand with a reading lamp, telephone, and alarm clock, and a small TV on a dresser. The walls were dirty beige with one cheap painting of a sailboat hanging crookedly above the bed.

  Gabriel sighed. “So what is it that you do?”

  “Ever heard of retrocognitive psychometry?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s the ability to perceive or see events that have taken place in the past. I have that. I touch an object, focus my concentration, and sometimes I’m able to see visions of things that have occurred when someone else touched the same object.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Yes. Just because it doesn’t work every time doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

  “I didn’t say it’s not real.”

  “I don’t have to be psychic to know how you feel right now. I just have to not be an idiot.”

  I saw him almost smile, then remember he was supposed to hate me, and his face returned to a serious frown. “Point taken. I’ll sit here in the corner and watch silently.” He slumped into a chair.

  “Fine. Is it okay for me to touch everything?”

  “Yeah.”

  I went to the bathroom first and worked my way through there, letting my fingers graze, holding the shower curtain, the hot and cold handles on the sink. Nothing interesting came. Just grainy pictures of people performing their mundane tasks. I moved out into the main room and sat on the end of the bed, letting my hands rest on the bedspread that was folded up on the edge of the bed. Immediately, it was as if I’d tuned into a porn channel with bad reception. Flashes of all kinds of sex came to me, but mostly indistinct. Red heat prickled up my neck and flushed my cheeks. I stood quickly, thankful that Gabriel didn’t notice how embarrassed I suddenly felt.

  When dealing with items that many people have touched, the visions can compete with each other and mush together into an indeterminate mess. I was hoping to pick up something of Victoria since she was the most recent inhabitant of the room. But it was obvious from what I’d just seen that the motel mustn’t wash their bedspreads often. I needed to find somewhere that her touch lingered.

  I looked around for the remote and found it on top of the television. I held it in my hands, closed my eyes, and concentrated. I saw nothing, but felt overwhelming frustration.

  “Anything from the remote?” Gabriel asked. So much for him being quiet.

  “Not a thing.”

  “That’s good, considering she didn’t use it. The TV is broken. She complained at the office the night she was killed.”

  That might explain the tremendous feeling of aggravation I felt while holding it. “It’s too bad,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “If the TV worked she might have stayed in and watched SNL. Not gone to Yummy’s. Not ended up dead.”

  He shrugged. “We can’t see the future.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  He cocked his head. “Wait a minute, you claim you’re a psychic but you don’t believe people can see the future?”

  “Correct.” I moved to the dresser now, felt each knob on the drawers.

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone who could. And, believe me, considering the population of freakazoids in the town my folks are from, if there were someone who could see the future, we’d have heard of them by now.”

  “What about that new Madame Maslov who came to town?”

  “Scam artist,” I said.

  He laughed. “Pot, meet kettle.”

  “I’m not a scam artist!” I was so sick of having to defend myself to this loser. A gorgeous loser with a low, raspy voice and a great body, but still.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical that you get all mad at people who don’t believe in your gift, yet you judge this Maslov woman the same way these people judge you?” Gabriel asked.

  I had to admit — to myself — that he had a good point. But I didn’t have to admit it to him. I put my hands on my hips. “Can you please shut up so I can concentrate here?”

  He smirked, but complied.

  I worked the room over for twenty more minutes with no concrete results. I needed a spot Victoria Happel had touched that wasn’t recently touched by a hundred other people. But finding that spot could take all day.

  “Ready to quit?” Gabriel asked with hope in his voice.

  An idea occurred to me. “Do you have crime scene photos?”

  “Yeah, right here in my back pocket.”

  I groaned. Wiseass. “Photos were taken, correct?”

  “Yeah. What do you need to see?”

  “I need to know the position her body was found in.”

  He stood and gazed at the bed. “I saw those photos. I remember. She was lying on the bed.”

  I paused. “I need to recreate it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I got on the bed. The sheets and pillows had been stripped, I assumed for the blood evidence. I lay atop the mattress and stared at the ceiling Victoria Happel had most likely stared at only three nights ago.

  “Move me into the position she was found in. As exact as you can.”

  He shook his head. “This is sick.”

  “Just help me and then you’ll be done with me for the day.”

  “I don’t see how this is helpful at all. As a matter of fact, I’m starting to think you’re completely wasting my time.”

  I had stopped listening to him. Something wasn’t right here. I focused on a small, perfectly circular, dark spot on the white popcorn ceiling. I squinted my eyes. “What’s that?” I asked, almost to myself.

  “What?” Gabriel followed my eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t see anything.”

  I clambered to a standing position on the bed and reached up on my tiptoes. Now that I was only inches away, I could see what it was clearly. I stuck my finger in it.

  “There’s a hole in the ceiling,” I said.

  Gabriel jumped up on the bed and examined the opening. “Definitely man-made, probably with a drill.”

  “It would give whoever had the room above a clear view of the bed,” I said.

  He nodded. “We’ll have to find out who was staying in that room.” He shook his head. “How did my dad miss this?”

  “Did your father bother to lie in the bed and get the victim’s perspective?”

  “No.”

  “Then maybe I’m not just wasting your time,” I said bitterly.

  He blushed. “I apologize. This is a good lead. Thank you.”

  I lightly pushed him off the bed and returned to my previous horizontal position. “I’m not done yet. Will you move me into the position she was found in?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  He leaned down and placed his hands on my shoulders. Immediately, a rush of warmth c
oursed through me. I was glad he couldn’t read minds because all I could think of was how devastatingly good-looking he was. And then of how twisted I was for thinking about that at a time like this, in a place like this. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t shut the thoughts off.

  I looked up into his dark eyes, at his slightly parted lips, so close to mine.

  Then he abruptly flipped me over like a pancake.

  “Hey!” I snapped, my voice muffled by a faceful of bed.

  “She was found on her stomach,” he said.

  “You could have done that a little gentler.”

  “Fine, no more hands. I’ll just instruct you. Turn your head to the right.”

  I complied and took a deep breath.

  “Put your left arm under your body.”

  It was uncomfortable. She wouldn’t have lain like that for sleep. Maybe she was trying to push herself up and, after the shot, fell down onto her arm.

  “Spread your legs apart more.”

  Thank God he’d stopped using his hands.

  “Put your right hand on the nightstand.”

  “Near the phone?” I asked.

  “Not that far. Not even completely on the top of the night-stand, more on the edge.”

  I reached my fingers out and delicately placed them on the wood. Then I lightly closed my eyes and focused. The room was suddenly cloaked in darkness. But Gabriel hadn’t shut off the lights.

  I was seeing the past.

  Quiet darkness. Slow breathing. I’m tired. Satisfied, and tired. The night didn’t turn out so bad after all. A click of the doorknob turning. I smile slowly.

  I lift my head up and say, “Back for more?”

  I begin to push myself up on my elbows, then hear a loud pop! Sudden, overwhelming pain fills me, then nothing.

  I abruptly opened my eyes. Between ragged breaths I said, “I saw it.”

  “Saw what?” Gabriel asked.

  “The murder.” I sat up, my hand on my heart, willing it to slow. “I saw it happen. She was lying on her stomach, almost asleep. She heard someone come in. She started to lift herself up and said, ‘Back for more?’ and then she was shot.”

  “Who did it? Who shot her?”

  I tried to remember any details from the vision. “There was a shadow to the left.”

  “Yeah, that’s where the killer was standing when he shot her.” Gabriel prodded, “Go on.”

  My fingers pressed on my temples. “It was completely dark in the room. I could only make out a shadow. It’s not clear.”

  Gabriel groaned in frustration. “That’s very convenient, isn’t it?”

  I rolled off the bed and faced him. “Think I’m a fraud if you want. What motive would I have to make this up?”

  He counted off on his fingers. “Publicity for your family business. Money. Your own show on TV. Who knows?”

  “What could I do to convince you I’m for real?”

  He looked me dead in the eye. “Solve the case.”

  NINE

  MY SLEEP WAS PLAGUED WITH NIGHTMARES. I KEPT replaying Victoria’s death scene in my head over and over as I tossed and turned.

  Back for more?

  Back for more?

  Back for more?

  Here’s what I knew. Victoria Happel was dead. She was shot in the head after having sex with my brother. After he left, someone came into the room. Victoria thought it was Perry. But it wasn’t. it couldn’t have been.

  Because Perry is not a killer.

  I repeated that silently like a mantra in the darkness of my bedroom while I willed myself to go back to sleep.

  In my next dream, I was lost in the woods, unsure of which direction to go, and so tired that I eventually sank to the forest floor. I didn’t move while insects nibbled at my skin. I didn’t scream. I didn’t wake up. Because, in my dream, I knew I was only dreaming and the little forest animals that bit and tore at me were only representations of the nagging doubts that were eating away at me.

  Doubts about Perry.

  I watch the news. I read articles. In most cases, the last one to be seen with the victim is the killer. But Perry was my brother. And had no reason to do this. Plus, he swore to me that when he left, Victoria was alive.

  And Perry never lies? The chorus of insects laughed at my naïveté.

  I thought of all the stories he told girls, about his scar, and other stuff. Lies, yes, but harmless ones, only meant to charm. He lies to girls who don’t matter to him. He doesn’t lie to me, I answered.

  You just said it. Girls don’t matter to Perry, the doubts chanted. He finishes with one and moves on to the next. They’re disposable. Their lives don’t matter.

  Shut up! My voice echoed so loudly in the forest that I woke and bolted upright in bed.

  I’d yelled the words out loud.

  Mom burst in and the door slammed against the wall. “Are you okay?” She looked around the room, confused. “What are you still doing in bed?”

  I squinted at the alarm clock. It was ten a.m.

  “Sorry, Mom.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’ll get up now.”

  “Have you seen your brother today?”

  “No, why?”

  Mom sighed and clenched her fists. “He knows you’re busy with the police department, and he promised me he’d work all day. This is going to be a busy day. The fireworks are tonight on the beach. We’re going to have lots of foot traffic going by, lots of business. We have a drop-in waiting already, and Perry’s flaked out on me.”

  I pushed my Perry-related nightmares out of my head. I couldn’t think about that now.

  I threw off the blanket and eased my legs over the side of the bed. “I can do the reading with you.”

  Mom’s face lit up. “Really? You don’t mind? I know you’re busy.”

  “It’s no problem. Gabriel hasn’t called me yet.” I stood and stretched. “Give me five minutes.”

  I didn’t have time to shower, so I splashed some cold water on my face and pulled my hair up into a ponytail. I threw on a gray T-shirt and navy shorts and dabbed a bit of lip gloss onto my lips.

  I rushed downstairs, pausing only when the morning paper caught my eye. It was folded on the coffee table bearing the headline, FEW LEADS IN TEEN’S DEATH. I picked it up and stared at a photo of Victoria Happel. Despite having seen her death in my mind’s eye, I’d never seen her face. My visions are from the point of view of the original person.

  Victoria didn’t look like a typical eighteen-year-old. She was model-pretty, with long dark hair, a voluptuous body, and brown eyes that seemed older, more mature, with a come-hither look to them. There was a hint of a smile forming at the corner of her mouth and I was filled with sadness for her. She’d never smile again.

  Mom coughed from the reading room. I dropped the newspaper and hurried in. The scene was set — dimmed lights, soft music, flickering candles. The client, a girl only a little older than me, sat up straight as I entered. She looked like she needed a shower and a full night’s sleep. She may have even had a worse night than me.

  “I couldn’t find my son,” Mom said, “but my daughter will join us.”

  The girl nodded slowly, her eyes vacant.

  “What’s your name?” Mom asked.

  “Joni,” she said, in barely a whisper. Her long brown hair hung limp like a curtain covering half her face. She picked at a ragged fingernail. The others were bitten down to the quick.

  “How did you hear about us?” I asked.

  “I saw your flyer downtown. I recently lost a friend.” She chewed on her lip for a moment, seemingly deciding how much to tell us. “I’m here because I want to know if she hates me.”

  The phrase “lost a friend” raised goose bumps on my arms.

  “You two had a fight,” Mom said.

  Joni’s eyes snapped toward Mom. “How did you know that?” Then she reddened. “Oh, psychic, yeah. I’m sorry. I just … I guess I didn’t expect this to be legit.”

  “Then why bother coming?” I asked.


  She shrugged. “In the small chance that you were for real, I guess. And if not, then maybe it would help to talk.”

  I could understand that. “How my gift works is that I need an object to hold.”

  She nodded vigorously, pulled something out of her pocket, and handed it to me. I held it up to the candlelight. It was a necklace, with a charm swinging from the bottom. Half of a heart and a few letters that would say BEST FRIENDS when connected to the rest. My eyes went to Joni’s collarbone and found the other half.

  I palmed the charm and opened my mind to the feelings and vibrations coming from it. The most recent were sadness and anger.

  “You betrayed your friend,” I said, opening my eyes. “And now she’s dead.”

  A solitary tear slipped down Joni’s cheek. “It’s my fault. Vicki’s dead because of me.”

  Vicki.

  Mom and I exchanged a look that said, “Yep, that Vicki.” My pulse raced. This girl could have all the answers we were looking for.

  “I don’t see how it’s your fault,” I said to Joni.

  The girl didn’t meet my eye as she spoke in a rush. “She wouldn’t even be down here if it wasn’t for me. She … fled or something. I think she came here to get away. To get away from me, from what I’d done.” The words came out in gasps. “If everything hadn’t happened … if I had been a good friend … she’d be alive now.”

  “Start at the beginning.” I rubbed my thumb over the charm again and a name came to me. “Start with … Joel.”

  Joni’s eyes lit up with something like fear. “You got that from the necklace?”

  I nodded slowly.

  Joni settled down farther in her seat. “Joel was Vicki’s boyfriend. We all went to high school together. We graduated this year. But he … cheated on her. With me.”

  Classic. What else are best friends for? At least the vision I’d had while holding Victoria’s cell phone made sense now. I remembered the angry words I had heard Victoria speak: Well, he obviously doesn’t want you anymore. He wants me.

  “I felt guilty about it,” Joni continued. “I told him I was going to tell her.”