by Dale Mayer
For some, it was all hocus-pocus bullshit. For others, like him, it was a strange hidden world coexisting in the same time-space continuum. For him, the rest of the world appeared to be sleeping. They didn't see what he saw. They didn't hear what he heard. They definitely didn't know what he knew.
It was lonely in the ethers. Probably why he'd started to build a network of friends who were like him. With the world being as judgmental and disbelieving as it was, anyone struggling to understand his abilities had nowhere to go. No one to talk to.
He'd been there with hellish results.
Leaning back, he tilted his face to the sky, letting the sun beam on his skin. He hated travelling. Being in traffic with all those tempers and personalities put him in a maelstrom of other people's emotions. They were like children. They let everything out, verbally, physically, and for him almost worse was the endless blasting they did mentally.
Keeping his shields in place was automatic, but in rush hour especially, he needed a suit of armor to repel the energies. He loved the water. It held a life force that drew him, calmed him.
Sitting there watching the waves, enjoying the respite, he heard his name whispered. Opening his eyes, he considered the speaker.
Kali.
And what did he want to do about it?
Checking his watch, he smiled slowly. "I know exactly what I'm going to do."
The real question was, should he tell Grant?
***
Kali opened up her sketchbook, stared at the old picture for a few moments, then turned to a clean page toward the end of the book. The two previous pictures had come about as a result of exhaustion and mental overload.
"Neither of which applies here," she muttered to Shiloh.
Kali stared at the blank page, hoping for inspiration. None came. Frustrated, she realized she didn't know what to do. She knew the desired result but not the methodology.
Just when she was ready to throw her sketchbook down in disgust, the doorbell rang. Shiloh jumped to her feet, barking crazily.
She followed Shiloh to the front door where she stopped to look through the small peep hole.
"Holy shit," she whispered. It was Stefan, Grant's psychic friend. There's no way she could forget that face. Tall, his golden hair had a hint of a curl, just as she remembered. He stared down at her, amusement glinting from liquid chocolate eyes.
Double shit. She looked behind her toward the kitchen where she'd been when she'd wished he could be here with her...and here he was. Coincidence? Surely he couldn't know she'd been thinking of him. Could he? She opened the door and her brain hitched. Christ, he was beautiful.
She stared as something else triggered. His energy was warm and soothing, captivating...yet contained. It didn't reach for her. It didn't tease her, attract her...it wasn't for her. His energy didn't touch her that way. Hers didn't respond to his either.
His lips curved. "Hello, Kali. Remember me?"
Stefan, Grant's friend. Grant. Her world righted itself.
She sighed happily. "The artist in me would love to paint your face. The woman in me is glad I have other interests."
He laughed with honest humor. "Thanks. I'm glad for Grant, too."
Heat washed her cheeks. She gave an embarrassed laugh. "Oh, that's great. You can read minds too."
"Only wide open ones."
"And mine is? Ouch." She didn't like the sound of that.
"It was when you opened the door." He said. "You've slammed it shut now."
"Yeah, duh. Do you always have that effect on women?" She opened the door wider for him to enter. With her own perspective back in balance, she could take a closer look. He really was male model material. "It must be quite a burden for you."
He cocked a brow her way.
"I'm serious."
As if realizing she was, he nodded. "It can be. Few people look beneath the surface."
Not nice. She wouldn't appreciate that herself.
As she led the way to the kitchen, she tossed a curious look at him. "Did Grant suggest you come by?"
"No, I'm here because you were looking for my help. The question is for what?"
Amazed, she stopped in her tracks. "You’re saying you're here because I was thinking I'd like to have your help with something?" She couldn't quite get her mind wrapped around it. "Surely you don't hear every time someone thinks of you or says your name. It would drive you crazy."
Some of the light in his face dimmed. His voice deepened, a weariness entered. "That's quite true. I have to keep guards in place for just that reason."
"Christ." She was almost bereft of words. "That is so not nice." Back in the kitchen, she motioned toward a seat beside her own. "Take a seat. Can I offer you a drink of some kind? Coffee?"
A boyish grin whispered across his face. "You do like your coffee, don't you?"
She couldn't help but laugh. "You don't have to be a mind reader to pick that up." She lifted her mega sized cup from the table and took a sip.
"I'm fine for right now." He motioned to her sketchbook lying open on the table. "What type of help are you looking for? Artistic or psychic or both?"
She winced. "I'm sure Grant told you a little about me." She sent him a questioning look. At his nod, she quirked her lips. "The thing is, even though I'm doing this stuff, I don't know how to do it. If that makes any sense. My drawings always just happened - usually when I'm horribly exhausted."
"Meaning your abilities just happen when they will, without you having any control? As if you're along for the ride instead of being in the driver's seat?"
"Exactly! And now that I'm trying to consciously connect to these abilities, I can't."
"That's because your mind is getting in the way. When you're exhausted, your subconscious can shut your conscious mind down easier. It's too tired to fight back."
Her confusion had to have been evident, because his lips curved and he pulled the sketchbook closer and picked up her pencil. Looking sidelong at her, he raised an eyebrow in question.
"Go for it." Kali hitched her chair closer.
"When you draw, you look at your page, determine where you're going to start and then you start. When you're draw psychically, you don't follow the mental process. You've shifted, for whatever reason, into another consciousness which controls how your drawing looks. It's not that you don't know how - it's that you're working with the wrong part of your mind. You need to let the subconscious have control."
She grappled with the concept. "So I need to draw with my subconscious to tap into the psychic side of things? How?"
"That's where practice comes in." He wrote a series of numbers down on her sketchbook. "I do have a few techniques for you to try. These aren't things you can go to school and learn. Practice is required. It's the only way to gain control."
"And presumably I'm not going to get it right off the bat."
"Most people require some time. It depends on the wrestling match between the two consciousnesses. Some people have no trouble switching from one to the other."
"Like you?"
Stefan glanced up, warm chocolate eyes twinkled. "Like me, yes. And you will get there."
He wrote quickly and, before she realized it, he had made a list. His hand moved smoothly across the page. She could see the artist in the simple movements. The sure confidence on the paper, the hand positioning. He was comfortable with who and what he was.
Finally, he tossed the pencil down and turned the page so she could read his notes.
1. Start by turning off all distractions and find a place to be alone.
2. Next - go into a meditative state - by whatever means work for you - soft music, candlelight, yoga position.
3. Relax. It's only through relaxation, hence exhaustion, that we free the mind.
4. Pick up your pencil and sketchbook and wait in this same relaxed state.
5. An image will form, at least this is how it works for me, I draw what I see.
6. If you are distracted, feeling pressured
, or try to force it, the image will disappear.
"Disappear? Really?"
"Absolutely." He waited while she reread the instructions. "It's simple to understand, much harder to do, damn near impossible to do well."
"I have no doubts about that." As she glanced his way, she saw he'd risen. "You're leaving?"
"You need to draw. I can see the energy around you. And what's the first thing on that list? Be alone if you can." Snatching the pencil up again, he quickly wrote his name and number below the instructions. "That's if you need to contact me." His mischievous smile flashed. "Now you have my number for the third time."
He fingers brushed hers as he handed the notebook back to her. Her gaze met his. "You are not alone."
For the first time she understood some place deep inside her psyche. He was right. She wasn't the only one dealing with these abilities. He was there, too. Her heart warmed, eased. The beginning vestiges of panic eased. He wasn't deserting her.
"And there are more of us. One lives not too far from here. She's unfortunate enough to connect with murder victims as they are being killed. A skill that damned near killed her as her body would manifest the same wounds as the victims during their attacks."
"Oh no. That's horrible." She couldn't imagine having to deal with more than one murdering bastard...and to physically be harmed in the process...that was just wrong.
He nodded. "It is indeed. But Sam is learning to control that ability and her many other gifts. The more you open yourself up to this," he motioned toward her sketchbook, "the more your abilities will be enhanced. They can strengthen and new ones can develop. We really don't know what the limit is."
"That's enough to make anyone think twice."
"Exactly. Like Sam, you will find a level of satisfaction and self confidence you can't imagine as your abilities let you see and understand more about how the world you live in operates."
She couldn't help asking, "Sam...is she okay?"
"She is now. She's found a partner, a cop in fact, who understands and accepts her for who she is. He helps her to stay grounded. I'll have to introduce the two of you. You have a lot in common."
Before she'd realized it, Stefan had reached the front door with her trailing behind. She hated for him to leave. "I'm glad for her."
"Be glad for yourself, too. That's one of those things you have in common." Without a backward glance, he walked out to his car, leaving her spluttering in his wake.
She couldn't even form the right question in her mind before he was gone.
Light shone and left. Like sunlight going behind a cloud, her world dimmed. Then she remembered his words...she was not alone.
He was something else. And what the hell did she have in common with Sam. Psychic abilities? Being at the learning stage...a cop who understood and accepted her? She couldn't go there right now. That he was referring to Grant seemed obvious on one level and ludicrous on another. She forced Grant from her mind.
One thought lingered as she wandered across the deck. For all the pain she was going through right now, she wouldn't want what Sam went through.
She returned to her kitchen chair, the sketchbook open in front of her. She didn't know if his instructions would work, but couldn't wait to try.
Her house was being watched. It gave her a vulnerable, almost invaded sensation.
Collecting her art materials, she moved into the living room. After lighting several cinnamon scented candles, she gave Shiloh a chew treat, then sat on the recliner. The candles weren't needed for light, but the warm glow added a comforting mellowness. Kali shuffled her chair closer. She reopened her sketchbook, ripped off the sheet with the instructions then turned to her old picture for a few moments. Shaking her head at the artistic skill, she picked a clean page in the middle of the book.
Letting herself relax, she freed her mind. Pictures flowed. She watched and observed but never engaged. After a few minutes she could feel the tension in her spine easing. It drained from her toes, leaving a limp weakness behind. Staring out the big bay window, she watched the clouds above swell in brilliance. The entire sky shone in rings of pearls above her. A stunning display. A deep sigh worked through her, shaking her to the core, and adding to the limp feeling.
Such an odd sensation. Kali stretched, her pencil coming off the paper as she relaxed further. What had Stefan said at the end? Relax and step outside your mind. Right. Easy for him to say.
Leaning back, Kali slipped into an altogether different state. Peaceful, floating, free of cares and worry. Happy. The last couple of days had been tough. She now realized how much of a stress they had been on her body. Aches and pains had shown up in places she barely recognized.
She shifted into a more comfortable position. A heavy sigh worked its way up and out.
A tiny picture formed in her mind. With her art pencil in hand, she drew what little she could see in her mind's eye. Within minutes, another tidbit showed up. She translated it to paper. By the time that had been completed, a little more appeared. Slowly, step by step, she pushed back the fog. Not being able to see the whole picture yet, she focused harder. The fog immediately moved in.
Kali stopped.
Aha. Forcing the picture wouldn't work, she had to relax to let the information flow.
Kali leaned back again and took several deep breaths.
And closed her eyes.
There. A tiny twig of the picture emerged again. Her pencil moved at a furious pace. Kali lost herself in the process.
The crazy pace continued for fifteen minutes. Then everything stopped. Kali's pencil stilled.
Drawing blind? Who'd have considered that as an art system? Not her.
She opened her eyes.
And couldn't see anything. The soft light sent a weird flickering glow over the black lines. She turned on a pole lamp beside her. Laying the sketchbook down, Kali sat back and studied the drawing.
It was a picture at least. Not a messed up series of scribbles on top of each other as she'd feared.
But what a picture. A tiny woman or child lay curled up in tight ball, surrounded by intense darkness and almost nothing else. A few sharp lines set the scene and a minute bit of shading finished the job.
Another victim.
Kali stood up to look at the picture from a different angle. Grim foreboding hit her in the gut. The picture had a very different look than last time. Was it the missing victim, a new victim, or a figment of her imagination? God damn it. If her mind could produce the image then it could damn well produce some parameters.
So how?
Kali studied the picture and then backed off and closed her eyes. The information had to be there. She just had to access it - somehow.
Closing her eyes, she relaxed into the picture. Out of the bubbling cauldron of emotions and self-doubt came a day. Friday.
Letting the information roll around inside, she sat quietly to see if anything new came to mind. Studying the picture, so dark and black, it was hard to imagine any hope existed for her. Her? Then like her painting, she turned to study the room round her and then glanced back. Yes, it was definitely a woman. So dark and depressing. Almost as if devoid of all life.
That was it. This victim was dead. She'd died several days ago. Alone and unknown.
Kali's heart broke.
She reached for the phone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The doorbell rang as the coffee finished dripping. Two hours. Not bad. Grant had made decent time, considering he'd had to conclude a meeting before he could come. Kali rushed over to open it.
"Hi. Thanks for coming so quickly." Behind him, a second car arrived. Stan. She frowned. "I wonder what Stan wants?" Motioning in the direction of the kitchen, she said, "Please, go ahead. Stan has no idea about my pictures. I don't want him to see this one, either."
Grant headed obediently into the kitchen while Kali plastered a welcome on her face and waited for Stan to reach her. "Hi, Stan." At his worried expression, her heart sank. "Are you alright?"<
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"No. No, I'm not. I've been driving aimlessly, hoping to spot Julie. I don't know why, but it seemed like something I could do." He glanced up, an almost blank look in his eyes. "Somehow I ended up here."
"I've called her several times, but got no answer. Grant's got people looking for her, too." She tried to keep her voice positive.
