“And you’re parents—they’re not with us anymore?”
“Nope. They died when I was pretty young. Eight, I think.”
“I’m so sorry, Aiden. That must have been hard for you.”
“Yeah, it was. A lot of people weren’t sure this was the right path—going with Blake, you know? Right away I knew my life was never gonna be the same. But Blake, man, he made sure things stayed as stable and recognizable as possible for me. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s really given up a lot over the years.”
“He sounds like a good guy,” I say, flicking my eyebrows in recognition.
“The best. I know it sounds all cliche and stuff, but he’s my best friend.”
“Blake was saying you lived in Minnesota before you came here. Was that weird for you?”
“Nah, it was pretty awesome. I wanted to go to the University here, and Blake up and moved us so I could make it happen.”
“Do you miss Minnesota?”
“Not even a little bit. It’s damn cold there,” he chuckles.
“I suppose it would be. I mean, it’s practically the North Pole.”
“You’re not kidding. Especially in the winter.”
I shake my head. I lived in Minnesota once—pretty lakes. But seven months of cold is enough to drive a person batty. One thing you learn when you’ve been around as long as I have—don’t live where the air hurts your face. Gorgeous lakes or not.
“Blake should be back soon. He usually runs errands while I’m in school, but tries to be back about the same time I am,” Aiden says, dumping coffee beans into the coffee maker and flipping the switch on.
The room fills with the sounds of beans grinding, then subsides to the percolating noises I’m used to.
“I gotta get me one of those fancy coffee pots. I still grind my beans by hand,” I say, chuckling.
“Hardcore.”
“Yeah, compared to that crazy thing,” I say pointing.
The room begins to fill with the smells of coffee, warmth, and kindred spirits. I’d forgotten how easy it can be to talk with people sometimes. Not everyone is as laid back as Aiden and Blake.
“So, you go to school around here?” Aiden asks.
“Me?”
My hand flies to my chest as I try to digest the question. I forget sometimes how young I still look—despite my super advanced age.
“Yeah, you’re what? Twenty-five or something? I suppose you don’t need to, with your line of work. No offense.”
I run my hand along the back of my neck.
“Uh, yeah. No college necessary.”
He nods, handing me the first cup of coffee.
“You take cream or sugar or anything?”
“All of the above,” I nod.
I grab hold of the handle, pulling it in tight to me so I can inhale the aroma even more. There’s something magical about the scent of coffee. Even after all this time, I don’t quite know what it is. Sure, the caffeine buzz is nice, but it’s deeper than that.
Aiden takes out the milk and sugar and hands them over to me, along with a spoon. The front door creaks open, and my heart kicks things up a notch.
“We’re in here,” Aiden calls out, continuing to work on his nachos.
There’s some scuttling in the hallway, but Blake calls back, “Who’s we?”
He enters the kitchen, bags in hand from his grocery shopping excursion. The smile on his face fades as his lips form an “o.”
“Diana—” he says, recovering.
I flit my eyes from him to Aiden and back again. Aiden continues to cook, oblivious to the awkwardness permeating the room.
“Hey Blake,” I say, trying to force my lips into a genuine smile.
“What—I mean, not that it’s not great to see you—but what are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you. Do you have a second?” I say, hopping off the bar stool.
Blake strides quickly to the counter, placing the bags down.
“Aiden, would you mind putting this stuff away when you get a second?” he asks.
“Sure thing.”
“Great. Uh—Diana, do you want to follow me to the study?”
I nod, sweeping my hand out to suggest he lead the way.
Blake bites his lower lip and takes the lead.
We walk down the narrow hallway, past the room with all the computers and gadgets, and into a large study on the opposite end. Books adorn the walls in floor to ceiling shelves spanning the entire room. By far, it’s the most decorated room I’ve seen thus far.
I walk up to the shelves, my fingertips grazing the spines.
“You like books, huh?”
Blake nods, his eyebrows raising up quickly.
“You could say that, I guess.”
“Hmmm.”
“Hmmm?” he asks, standing in the doorway.
“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you the last time we talked. I forget sometimes to dial down what I know. I guess, I thought you could handle more than you could,” I say, leaving the books and walking back to him.
Blake’s face flashes between expressions quickly, as if he’s fighting internally with himself.
“Look, you just caught me off guard. I’ve had some time to work through it now, though. So don’t worry.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Oh, good.”
“I mean, once I realized you and I aren’t all that different, it all made sense.”
I blink, confused.
“I’m not following.”
“You did your homework, right? After you met me and Aiden, you what—used Detective Radish or whatever his name is to pull our records?”
“No—first of all, I’d never invade your privacy like that,” I say, indignation rising. I take a step forward, invading his personal space a bit instead.
“Come on. You can’t possibly expect me to believe you’re really psychic,” he says, making a face.
“No, not at all. I expect you to know it. Where the hell were you when we got Esther out? Did you think it was just an educated guess?”
“Educated, perhaps. Mostly, I figure it was more a lucky guess. It happens sometimes.”
“Oh my God, please.”
I roll my eyes and lick my lips. How on earth can someone be so dense? The evidence is right there in front of him, but he’s oblivious to seeing it.
Blake keeps his eyes trained on me—his intense brown eyes wide.
“You’re a moron, you know that?” I spit, pacing back and forth like a caged animal with him hovering in the doorway.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You’re dense if you think it’s all lucky guesses and wool pulled over eyes. What about the warning I gave about the other car? Why bother asking me to help you find the men who got away? I mean, what the hell?”
Honestly, I have no idea why it bothers me so much that he doesn’t believe me. It’s his prerogative, I guess. It wouldn’t be the first time—but for some reason, his rejection stings more than most.
Blake doesn’t say anything; he simply watches me like a hawk as he crosses his arms over his chest.
I stop pacing and turn to face him head on, widening my stance and refusing to look away. Suddenly, I know what I have to do to convince him once and for all.
“What are you doing?” he finally asks, quirking an eyebrow.
After a long pause, I say, “Fine, I’m in.”
11
BLAKE TAKES A STEP BACK. His eyes narrow, and his mouth twitches.
“What? Like, now?” he releases his arms and scratches the back of his head. “This wasn’t a ploy to get you to say yes, you know.”
I shrug.
“Even if it was, now I have something to prove and I can’t remember the last time I felt like that.”
“What if I’ve decided to let it go?” Blake says, shaking his head.
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, let me guess, another premonition, right?” he
makes a face, but for the first time, he enters the room. He walks to the big picture window on the far end of the space and stares out into the late afternoon.
“No, educated guess, moron.” I spit back, walking over to him.
Blake snickers.
“Right, you still can’t get a ‘read’ on me.”
I fight back the urge to punch him after he air quotes.
“See, that sarcastic tone in your voice is why I’m doing this. I’m looking forward to wiping the smug look completely off your face when it finally occurs to you there’s more to me than smoke and mirrors.”
“No, you’re not,” he says over his shoulder. He doesn’t look my direction, but there’s a hint of something—wonder perhaps—starting to blossom in his tone. He probably wouldn’t admit it—but I’ve been around long enough to hear it.
“No, I’m not, what?”
Blake turns around, leaning back as he rests his hands behind him on the window seal.
“You’re not doing this because you have anything to prove—at least, not when it comes to your psychic skills—mojo—whatever. I mean, what’s one person who thinks you might not be who you say you are? You have a reputation around here, even if I don’t entirely believe you. And you’re not doing it for an ‘I told you so’ either.”
“Okay, smart ass. Enlighten me. What am I really doing it for?”
Now it’s my turn to cross my arms and take a step back.
“Like I said before, you try too hard.”
“Ugh, not that again…” I roll my eyes and loll my head.
I take another step back and start to walk toward the door.
“It’s true. You want people to see this, I don’t know—hard shell—but it’s bullshit. You do all that because you’ve been hurt by caring too much. I’d wager my life on it. But every once in a while, the real you slips through. You want to care—you want to do good in this messed up world, but you don’t want anyone to know it’s the real you.”
My eyes widen, but I don’t dare say a word.
He takes a step forward.
“But I see it,” he says, his tone hushed.
“Well, thanks a ton for your assessment, Dr. Phil. Now, are we gonna get to work, or are you gonna psychotherapy my ass all day?” I say, shuddering away the goosebumps his words invoked.
Blake crosses his arms. “I know I’m right.”
“Then it looks like we both have something to prove.”
“Guess so,” he nods.
“Super. Now, where do you wanna get started?”
“I uh—I don’t know. I kinda got blind-sided by all this. Mind if I take a day to regroup? I need to talk with Aiden and see where he left off, I suppose.”
“Sure, do what you need to do. Take all the time you need,” I say, laying the sweet on thick.
Blake’s shoulder’s ease up a bit.
“But I sure hope that extra day doesn’t mean another girl—or ten—being kidnapped,” I add, heading for the door.
With an exasperated sigh, Blake’s chin drops to his chest.
“What? Honesty? Gotta love it,” I say.
“Fine. What do you propose?” he says, raising his head enough to glare at me from under his eyebrows.
“Well, sounds like you had something in play. Why not go chat with Aiden right now and see where we go from there? I mean, he is here. And we’re here. Why wait?”
“Yeah, I guess. Let’s go.”
Blake ushers me out of the study room and back to the kitchen. Aiden’s at the breakfast bar, snarfing up the last of his nachos as only a college kid can but looks up long enough to do a double take.
“Something you need?” he says through a mouthful.
Nodding, Blake scratches at the back of his neck and says, “Yeah, you got some time this evening to go over some of the stuff we found on the pedophile ring? Diana here would like to join us after all.”
“I thought we decided to table the whole thing—”
“I know what we decided. But I think Diana wants to check things over herself and maybe we can go from there,” Blakes says.
The two of them exchange odd glances, but Aiden shoves the last bite into his mouth and stands up.
“Let’s do it,” he says, walking to the dishwasher and tossing his plate and fork inside.
Blake leads the way back to the super-techie room, with me following close on his heels, and Aiden just behind me.
“Hang on, I need to grab something,” Blake says, opening the door on the right, just before we get there.
The last time I was here, Blake ushered me out rather quickly and I’d give my left foot to know what he’s hiding.
“What’s this room for?” I ask, peering around the door.
The lights remain off as he walks into the space.
“Nothing, just go with Aiden. I’ll be there in a minute,” he says, quickly walking back to me and pulling the door in tight.
“You know, it would probably help you find whatever you’re looking for if you turned on the lights—” I say, slipping under his arm before he can close the door any further. I flip on the light switch and gasp.
Blake twists around, immediately flipping the light switch back off.
“You need to go, now” he practically growls, grabbing hold of my arm. “This is private.”
Light may be sparse through the one large window, but I certainly caught an eyeful.
Every inch of the walls are covered in drawings. Some in pencil, some charcoal. Big, little, massive—they’re like a collage in an attempt to transform the room into a cavern or something. Some drawings look like rocky walls, others are macro impressions of rocks, knives, blood. The blood is the only thing done in color. It’s all got a very macabre vibe.
“What is all of this?”
Blake’s lips are pressed into a thin line—his eyes wide.
“I said follow Aiden,” he practically shrieks, grabbing for my wrist. “Are you hard of hearing?”
Sidestepping his clutches, I take another step into the room. A handful of drawings catch my attention. They have the strange symbol on them, the one from my … I don’t know … dream? Premonition?
Stepping over to them, I can’t help but stare.
“Do you know what this symbol means? Why—why have you drawn this? I mean, these drawings are yours, right? You’ve created these?” I say, my eyes widening as I touch the largest version with my pointer finger.
Taking a deep breath, Blake walks to his desk, opening a drawer and slapping a folder on top of the desk.
“Yes, I drew them. I don’t know what the symbol means—not really. The closest I can figure is it’s Greek. I keep seeing it in my dreams and it—well, all of this has freaked me out ever since I was a kid. My therapist—yeah, yeah, I had a therapist—she encouraged me to start drawing it all when it bothered me. I guess I just kept going. It helps me keep track of how often the dreams come about.”
“Fascinating,” I say, mesmerized by the sea of pictures.
If I had to draw every time I had a premonition—or a strange dream, I’d need a mansion the size of Detroit.
Despite the low light from the windows, I walk from one drawing to the next, unable to take my eyes off of them. There’s something eerily familiar in the decor—the cavernesque quality, as well as the overall vibe.
“The other night—well, I suppose it’s been over a week now—I had a dream. It was the night I came home after we met—and saved Esther. Anyway, I saw this symbol, too. I wasn’t sure if it was a dream, or a premonition. Sometimes they can get all jumbled together and hard to decipher. But this—this tells me it was no ordinary dream. It was obviously tied to you in some way.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t bet on it. You can’t read me—so don’t pretend to start now.”
“Not fair,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m telling you the truth—”
Aiden pokes his head in the room after a few minutes. “Hey, guys … you coming? I have everything up and re
ady.”
“Yeah, we were just leaving,” Blake says, grabbing the manilla folder and taking me by the arm.
Still stunned by the imagery in the small office, I allow Blake to lead me down the hallway to the tech room where Aiden has all of his computer stuff set up.
Even though I’ve been through the evolution and very inklings of computers and technology—there’s something about it I simply don’t trust. Not that I’m not grateful for those who can wield it, though.
Aiden watches us enter the room and gives us a moment to get situated on the chairs opposite his. The monitors behind him each have their own thing going on—some are static, others display constant movement. Truth be told, it’s rather distracting.
“Alright, so here’s where I think we should start,” Aiden begins. “I’ve tracked the pedophile ring to a group operating out of Europe. Based on the images from the Range Rover’s cameras, I was able to track the guys who shot at you and pulled up some of their aliases. The good news is, I got faces to go along with the false names. But the problem I’ve run into is my facial recognition software caught a glimpse of them at the airport.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, did you let the police know?” I say, leaning forward and placing my elbows on my knees.
“In theory, that would have been smart, had I been keeping a watch on it. Unfortunately, Blake had already decided to let things go. I literally just got this info as I was waiting for the two of you.”
“So how long ago were they at the airport?” Blake interjects.
“A day and a bit,” Aiden shrugs.
“So they could be anywhere by now,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair and glaring at the ceiling.
“Well, not anywhere. I mean, I was able to track the flight. I have a general idea—but I don’t know where within the vicinity without a little more research.”
“Where were they headed?” Blake says, mimicking my movement and leaning forward.
“Italy,” he says, making a face.
“So?” I say.
“Tickets to Rome run between $1500 and $2400. Per person,” Aiden says. “That’s not including rental cars, hotels, and other stuff.”
“So?” I repeat, eyeing them both.
Blake scoffs. “It’ll take me a few days to pull together that kinda cash for that big of a withdrawal on my debit card. My bank has a waiting policy,” he says leaning back. “Unfortunately, I can’t magic it out of nowhere—and before you ask, no, I don’t have credit cards. They’re shit. They’re just corporate control meant to keep people down.”
Oracle: A Diana Hawthorne Psychic Mystery Book Page 11
