Lightning Strikes

by Theresa Parker

  As I made it about halfway back down the tunnel, I stepped into a small offshoot. When I had entered this room the first time, I briefly stepped in, looked around, and then moved on. This time I walked into the room and really looked. There were boxes stacked up along the walls, the area no bigger than my foyer at home. I turned to survey the room, not really caring about the boxes, when something caught my eye. Behind two stacked boxes there was a darker mass at the wall.

  The good thing about my visions is that I can pretty much go anywhere. I’ve gone through closed doors before, but usually I don’t like to do that unless I absolutely have to. It creeps me out too much and makes me feel like I’m a ghost. When there’s a small space that I could possibly squeeze through if I was in my body, I don’t mind as much.

  I moved behind the boxes and squatted down. The dark mass was indeed, what I suspected it was—an opening. I peered into the darkness and didn’t really see a thing. I got the impression, though, that these boxes were placed in front of this opening for a reason. I crawled into the opening and after traveling through a short, four-foot tunnel, I came out on the other side.

  The area I was in was a little larger than the room I had just come from. The darkness in this room didn’t seem as all-consuming as it did in the small tunnel. I looked around the dirt floor and rock walls that made up this area, and I didn’t see anything, but something told me to look up. I spotted a ledge, starting about waist high and traveling gently up the wall. Climbing on to the ledge, I made my way up to a platform that rose a little above my head (if I was still standing at the bottom). The ledge stuck out about four feet from the wall and a small hole sat just at the floor. Well, I told myself, this had to go somewhere. It looked like it would be a tight fit if I were here in my body. I would really have to get low to the dirt. If the hole had actually been a tunnel, I don’t think I would have been able to make it through in my body. I stuck my head into the hole and looked at the next cavern.

  This cavern was much lighter. I could hear water dripping into pools somewhere close by. I was excited about this, because the lighter gray of this cavern led me to believe this was a possible exit, although not the exit I needed to find. This hole was too small for a grown man to crawl through. Cavanaugh would never fit. This was not the way in for the police. Crawling through the hole, I found myself on another ledge. The dim light allowed me to see the surrounding walls and floors. The floor was covered in water, no more than ankle deep. The ledge acted as a little island in the water. I traveled through the only exit, looking for the source of the light.

  I was excited when I found the small opening where the light was coming from. There was rubble surrounding the exit, but the opening was plenty big enough that even Cavanaugh could have crawled through. I was so happy to find myself standing out in the sunshine; I couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling. I looked around the area to see if I could find some kind of landmark to fix my position. There was brush and scrub around the opening and I was standing on a slight slope, like the side of a small hill. Trees were interspersed at the bottom. I walked down to them and looked around. The brush at the base of the trees was sparse, and I thought I spotted a footpath some way up ahead. I winded my way through the trees to where I caught a glimpse of the path. I glanced back once, to make sure that I could still find the little opening to the mine.

  When I came to the path, I was disappointed. You could tell that this path was barely used. I still couldn’t see anything obvious that I could use as a solid landmark. The path leading back to the hill seemed clearer than its opposite direction through the trees, so I followed that direction. It was just a short walk, and I was out of the trees, looking at the blue sky. A couple more feet took the path back up the side of the hill at an angle. I followed this, thinking again that if I was back in my body, walking this path would be an awkward journey. The path came up, then over, and that’s where I stopped. There was a large drop on this side that would make it too dangerous to continue on the path that skirted the edge, unless you were a goat or had special equipment that would save you from going splat at the bottom. I stood there for a while, looking out over the area to see if there was anything that would make a good landmark. All I saw were trees and more trees. I wasn’t even high enough to see over the tops of some of them—another disappointment. I turned back on the path and followed it back the way I’d come.

  When I arrived back to the point I’d started from, I kept going on. The path meandered through the trees. I thought again about how overgrown this path was. There were no signs that anyone other than animals had traveled this way in a long time. In some areas, it narrowed down to the width of my shoe and then widened again. I couldn’t see the sun through the trees very well, but it felt as if it was getting late, maybe about two o’clock or so. I needed to get back into the cavern to see where the main entrance was. I just hoped that the children were still exercising; otherwise, I would have to find that area again and then backtrack.

  I continued to think about this until I suddenly popped out into a clearing. Low weeds and grass came up to my knees. I looked around and saw that I was in a horseshoe-shaped meadow. The thick tree line gave it this shape. As I looked at the top of the open part of the horseshoe, I finally found what I was looking for—a landmark. There were two small boulders and one large boulder sitting on a flat rock; it looked like a chair. Excited, I described this to Cavanaugh. I walked past it so I could view it from all sides, and then I stood in front of it so I could fix the image in my mind. Turning with the open meadow at my back, I looked out to see if there was anything else I could use to mark this area. More low grass continued to fan out from the top of the horseshoe opening, but to my left, it sloped down. I went to the top of the slope, expecting to see more grass, but instead, I was surprised to find a dirt parking area and a paved road.

  I pulled back to myself and watched Cavanaugh writing furiously in the notepad. When he was done, he made me go over it again so he could make sure he didn’t miss anything. I was preparing to go back in when Cavanaugh said we were packing up and going to drive around to see if we could find the stone chair. I told him that even if we did, the opening to the mine was too small for him to enter. He ignored me as he started packing up our stuff.

  I folded up the blanket and slung the tote over my shoulder while Cavanaugh carried the ice chest back to the truck. I wanted to continue to argue with him, but by the set of his jaw I could tell that it would be pointless. I waited in the cab of the truck while Cavanaugh stowed everything in the back. When he climbed in, he had two bottles of icy-cold water. He handed me one and twisted off his own cap.

  The water felt good going down my throat. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until I saw him holding the bottles. He started the truck and pulled onto the main road. I held both crystals in my hand, concentrating on the stone chair and hoping that with the clarity I gained from the crystals, I would be able to lead us to it. Another hour passed as we drove. I could tell Cavanaugh was becoming frustrated because we couldn’t find the area I saw. It was about an hour until the sun went down, and even I had doubts we would find the place today. We passed by several side roads and after taking a few of these, we always ended up having to turn back. Cavanaugh glanced at his watch and turned the truck to head out of the park. We had passed this area once already, but something told me to turn right at the next road. Cavanaugh rolled his eyes at me.

  “We’ve already been down this way,” he said, a bit grouchily.

  “I know,” I told him, “but it’s here. I know it is.”

  I made him go past the point where we had turned around and headed back to the main road the first time. The feeling that we had not traveled far enough before kept bouncing in my brain. The shadows were beginning to lengthen as the sun dipped below the tree line.

  “Here,” I said suddenly, “turn here.”

  Cavanaugh turned off onto the road I indicated. The road took us up a little hill and then turned sharpl
y to the right before straightening itself back out.

  “Rommy,” Cavanaugh said. “This is a waste of time; it’s starting to get dark.”

  He turned the truck around in the middle of the road.

  “What are you doing,” I yelled. “We just have to go a little further.”

  “By the time we find this place, if we find it,” he emphasized, “it will be too dark to see anything. We’ll have to come back another day.”

  Another day, I said to myself, confused. “You mean tomorrow,” I told him.

  He shook his head. “Not tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be checking on all the stuff we have out there right now. I need to see how the progress on the picture of the tattoo is going and check in with Johnson on some other things.”

  “Well, what about later in the day then?” I asked. “We can come right back to this road now that we know.”

  “What do we know, Rommy?” he said sharply. “All we know is that there’s a rock formation that you said looks like a chair out here somewhere. I need to get back to my solid leads.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean,” I said, getting pissed off.

  “It means that I think you have a gift, but I don’t think that it’s enough for this case.”

  Now I was really mad.

  “How the hell do you know whether it’s enough for this case?” I seethed. “You barely even let me try.”

  Cavanaugh ran a hand through his hair. “This is not open for discussion,” he said, his voice sounded weary. “This is not just my decision. Johnson told me last night that if you didn’t get a tangible lead today, we need to go back to our hard leads, and I agree.”

  “Whatever,” I said, so mad now that I couldn’t even think straight.

  “Rommy,” he said with a sigh, “don’t be mad. I appreciate all the help you’ve given me so far.”

  I looked at him, not believing what I was hearing. He appreciated my help so far. What kind of condescending bullshit was this? This was not about protecting me—this was about his skepticism. I didn’t think he’d really moved past that. He gave me my shot because his boss told him to, and now when I barely got to do my thing, he cut me off. I didn’t think he even believed there was a rock chair. I didn’t want to hear any more of his reasons and explanations.

  We drove in silence the rest of the way to my house. When he pulled up to the curb, I got out and slammed the truck door. I could hear him calling my name as I unlocked my front door. I was two steps into my foyer when I decided to turn around and lock the door. I even slid the chain to make sure that he would have an even more difficult time getting in if he tried it. He didn’t try it. He just drove away. Now, along with being mad, I wanted to cry.

  I walked into my living room and threw my purse and jacket into the recliner. Pollini was lying on the couch, but jumped up on the back of it when I came into the room, purring a greeting. I scooped him up and cuddled him, burying my face in his thick, soft fur. I carried him into the kitchen to check and make sure he had plenty of food and water. His food dish was half-full of kitty crunchies, but his water bottle was almost empty. Because of his affliction, I was scared to put water in a bowl for him to drink. I had visions of him having a bout of narcolepsy and falling face-first in his water bowl. They say you can drown in a tablespoon of water; I didn’t want to find out if that was true the hard way, so I had a friend of mine design and make an extra-large hamster water bottle for him. It took some training to get him to learn to drink from it. The little ball bearing that he had to lick to allow the water to pass through held too much fascination for him as a kitten. All he would do at first was paw it, trying to get the little ball out. He’d give up when his paw got too wet. He would walk around the kitchen, shaking his paw and giving me dirty looks, but eventually he learned the trick.

  After filling his bottle and fixing it back into its holder, I opened the fridge and pulled out the fixings for a sandwich. I really didn’t feel like eating. I was depressed and angry, but I knew if I didn’t eat after expending my energy in searching the mine for exits, I would end up with a headache later. The pickings were slim. I had not been shopping since before I started working with Cavanaugh. There were no sodas left, which really sucked. I could have used the caffeine and sugar. I ate standing at the counter.

  With Pollini at my heels, I started for my bedroom. A hot shower sounded really nice right now. At the top of the landing, my phone rang. I had no interest in answering it. The machine picked up, and I heard Johnson’s voice carry through the living room.

  “Rommy, pick up if you’re home.” He paused, actually thinking I would answer. “Look, Cavanaugh told me what he said to you today. I did tell him if you couldn’t get a solid, verifiable lead by the end of the day, that we needed to go back to work the evidence.” He sounded apologetic. “You did your best, kid; I know this one was especially hard on you with the distance and the problem with the mines. I shouldn’t have pushed this at you knowing you’ve never done this type of search before.” He cleared his throat and continued in a gruff voice. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know. I’ll get back to you as soon as we have another case for you.”

  With those last words, he hung up, and I was mad all over again. I set Pollini on my bed and grabbed up my pajamas. Stomping into the bathroom, I turned on the shower. Never again, I told myself. Never again would I let a good-looking detective interfere with my job as a psychic. No one would dictate to me how to perform my tasks or prevent me from doing them anymore, I vowed as I stepped under the hot spray.

  As I shampooed my hair, a plan began to unfold in my head. I knew if we had continued down that road, we would have found the dirt parking area, the rock chair, and the meadow. I knew that the exit I found in the mine was not something the police could enter into, but I felt the larger entrance was somewhere near.

  I stepped out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed for bed. Wrapping a towel around my wet hair, I went back downstairs for my cordless phone and took it back into the bedroom with me. After throwing the towel on my head over the shower rod, I quickly ran a comb through my hair and then got into bed. I had made a decision, and now it was time to put it into action. I would find the entrance to that mine, and then I would cram that information down Cavanaugh’s and Johnson’s throats. I wasn’t trying to be petty, but my abilities were being questioned, and I tended to become very stubborn if I had to prove myself.

  I dialed Kelli. Who better to help me than my eternal partner in crime? I barely let her get her greeting out before I ranted to her about the unfairness of it all. She let me go on for some time before stopping me.

  “All right,” she said, getting down to business. “What do you want to do about it?”

  She knew me only too well. There were no platitudes, no commiserations—just the question of what she could do to help.

  “I want to go back tomorrow and find the stone chair,” I told her.

  “No,” she said with a sigh, “you want to go back to find the entrance to the mine, so you can rub Cavanaugh’s face in it.”

  Like I said, she knew me well.

  “All right,” she continued. “Against my better judgment, I’ll go with you.”

  I started to thank her, but she interrupted me.

  “The only reason I’m going is because I know you will go by yourself if I don’t,” she admonished. “I’ll let Grant know that I’m taking tomorrow off.”

  The conversation moved on to other things. I guessed she was trying to get my mind off how much Cavanaugh and Johnson had hurt my feelings. We talked about Pamela, and I asked how well she was doing on all her tests; I told Kelli that I couldn’t wait to see the videos they made of her abilities. I told her about meeting Anthony Fontaine and what transpired between us at Uncle Mike and Aunt Rita’s house.

  “What an asshole,” she said in response to my story. “Where does this guy get off saying that kind of crap to you? He said he was psychic and worked for the FBI?”

  “Yeah
,” I told her, “although I saw no sign of any ability.”

  “Grant has a list of known psychics a mile long,” she told me. “I’ll ask him if he knows anything about this guy.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” I said. “Even though he indicated that he’ll pursue me, I haven’t seen him since. Maybe he was just blowing smoke up my ass, trying to freak me out.”

  Kelli was silent for a minute. “That could be it,” she told me. “Maybe he’s a big weirdo and wanted to scare you in a creepy-stalker way for some reason. You should have Johnson run a check on him, just in case.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “maybe I will.”

  We talked for a while longer, and then she had to go when Grant showed up at her apartment. I was a little envious, but happy for her that she had someone in her life now. We agreed that she would pick me up around seven in the morning. I hung up with her, feeling better now that I was putting my plan into action. I shot my hair with the blow dryer, thinking about what Cavanaugh had said to me. My feelings were still hurt. I knew I suspected that he didn’t have any romantic interest in me, but I’d thought that at least we could be friends. I didn’t know if that was possible now. I tried not to dwell on it, because it just made me sad, but it was the last thing I thought about as I fell asleep.