Psychic Storm: Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers

by Deanna Chase

  “Don’t worry about it.

  I can take a cab.”

  “No, no, I would like you with me. If you do not mind, you will come, yes?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Do you have any luggage to pick up?”

  “No, I’m good.” Jon-Luc always packed light. Everything in his carry-on was black, which made traveling a lot easier.

  “Good, then we are on our way. I have my car parked right outside. I received the call on my way to pick you up. They are waiting for me before they to move the body.”

  Jon-Luc set his suitcase and laptop in the back seat, then climbed into the front of the Peugeot 607, the French equivalent of an undercover car. Claude took off before Jon-Luc had closed his door. Immediately he felt the speed as he flew back into his seat. He fumbled with the seat belt while staring at Claude's intense expression.

  “It’s nice to see you too, buddy,” Jon-Luc said sarcastically.

  “Yes, yes, long time, dude,” Claude said.

  Jon-Luc laughed. “Dude? Where the hell did you come up with that one?”

  “I’ve been watching many American movies to pick up the slang. I want to be as cool as you.”

  “Buddy, you are cool. You don’t have to try so hard.”

  “Simple for you. Everything comes to you so easy.” Claude swerved in and out of traffic, the police siren wailing. The metallic light affixed to the roof flashed.

  “Where the hell did you get that idea?” Jon-Luc braced his hands on the dashboard as he watched a pedestrian jump back up on the curb in time to prevent himself from being plowed over. He turned back toward his friend. “Where are we going anyway?”

  “Not so good neighborhood, you would say. This killer dumps his victims in the river Seine. The pressure to close this case is great, as you might guess. The Maire de Paris, or as you say, the mayor, is breathing down the neck of the Générale de la Police Nationale, and so in turn, he is breathing down mine.”

  Claude glanced at Jon-Luc. “The crap it rolls down the river. This is the saying, no? Not so good for tourist business.”

  “It’s shit actually.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Jon-Luc laughed. “No, the saying is shit flows downstream.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I catch your drift, it’s the same everywhere." He stared out his side window at the trees along the Seine; October was a great time to visit Paris. The foliage had changed, the vivid colors of autumn splashed against the azure blue backdrop of the sky. He turned back to his friend and said, "You seem to be in pretty good spirits despite the stress you’re under. What is it, you have a new lady friend?”

  “I do actually, yes. But I have not had the time to spend in her company lately. This case has me very busy. Her name is Mimi.”

  “Is she a stripper?” Jon-Luc grinned.

  The car filled with silence. Claude wouldn’t look at him.

  “Holy shit, she is a stripper?”

  Claude scowled. “She’s prefers exotic dancer.”

  “Oh, man.” Jon-Luc ran a hand through his black hair. “Sorry, I was only kidding. I’m sure she’s great.”

  Claude looked at him, then a slow smile spread across his face. “So am I.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch, you really had me going there.” Jon-Luc slapped him on the shoulder.

  Claude laughed. “Actually, she is a doctor of psychiatry and works for the Police Nationale. We have been seeing each other for six months now. You’ve got to meet her, she’s very special.”

  “I’m really happy for you. I’d love to meet her.”

  The smile slipped from Claude’s face and he turned toward Jon-Luc. “Sorry to hear about Frank.”

  “Thanks. Losing him has been a real blow.” Jon-Luc glanced out the window, afraid his feelings would show on his face. The wound was still too fresh.

  “I know he was like a father to you. It is good you took the time off for yourself. How long are you here for?”

  “I don’t know. I left the FBI.”

  “What made you decide to do that? I thought you loved your work?”

  “I do love my work, but not all the bureaucratic bullshit and politics that went along with it. Frank had been trying to get me to quit for awhile now. I guess it took him dying for me to realize he was right.”

  “What will you do now?” Claude asked.

  “I was toying with the idea of doing my own private investigating, and since Frank left everything to me, I can afford to help those who can’t hire someone themselves.”

  “He must have been very well off, that home of his is amazing. I have not seen anything like it.”

  “It’s been in his family for generations. It dates back before the Civil War. I think it’s the most beautiful estate in the Garden District, but I may be prejudiced.”

  “Will you move back in and live there now?”

  “It’s the only place I call home, so I won’t be selling it. Maybe someday I will have children to leave it to.”

  “What about your real family? Have you been in touch with them?”

  “Not since the day I left. They are dead to me.” Jon-Luc’s tone was harsh even to his own ears. He kept his face turned away. The memories hurt too much even to this day.

  Suddenly he was transported back in time to that stairwell where he’d overheard his parents arguing in the kitchen. His mother had betrayed his trust and told his father about Jon-Luc’s secret. His father had wanted to put him away in a nuthouse.

  Frightened, he’d sat on the third step and listened while they decided his fate.

  “Dammit, Marlene, he gets this crazy shit from your side of the family! My parents warned me not to marry you! Insanity is inherited. I should have listened. Everyone knows those two aunts of yours are nuttier than fruitcakes. Claiming they see ghosts.”

  “Please, Bill, remember your blood pressure.”

  “You should have thought about that before you told me this crap! No son of mine is going to be the town loony. It would make me the laughing stock of the firm. No, we have to get him out of here before it’s too late.”

  “Oh, Bill, can’t we think of something else? Maybe he could just talk to someone.”

  “Like that helped with your wacky aunts? No. We’ll take him to a sanitarium in Baton Rouge. No one knows us there.”

  “Please, Bill, be reasonable.” She’d burst into tears.

  “He’s going and that’s final. I just hope to God that baby in you will be okay. That this insanity doesn’t touch him and he has a chance at a normal life.”

  His mother’s sobs had reached record proportions, then he’d heard his father’s heavy footfalls on the hardwood floor coming his way. Jon-Luc had jumped up and run to his room.

  That night he’d put some clothes in his backpack and ran away. He’d been only thirteen years old. For the next three years he’d lived on the streets of New Orleans. Fell in with a bad crowd and never told anyone his secret again. To survive he became a thief, and to dull the visions, he turned to drugs.

  The first few years, he’d visited his old neighborhood and spied on the house. He’d watched his baby brother go from being pushed in his pram, to a toddler being swung around in his mother's arms and smothered with kisses. It was painful to witness all the love he was missing, so he’d finally said goodbye to his old life once and for all.

  Then one night, when he was sixteen, he and his gang were robbing one of the mansions in the Garden District when the owner came home. His friends made it out in time, but he wasn’t so lucky. Or at least that’s the way he saw it at the time. The man latched onto Jon-Luc’s shirt and pulled him back into the house. He gestured for him to sit on the couch in the parlor.

  The big man said, “My name is Frank Thibodaux, and this is my house. And who might you be?”

  “None of your business.” No way was Jon-Luc going to give this guy the time of day.

  “Now, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t remember inviting you into my home, yet here
you are. So that makes it very much my business, Jon-Luc Boudreaux.” The man smiled.

  Jon-Luc shivered. “How did you know my name?”

  “I know a lot about you, son.”

  “Don’t call me that. I’m not anybody’s son!”

  The man sat down in a chair opposite Jon-Luc.

  “What do you think you know about me, old man?”

  “I know that at the rate you’re going you will be dead or in prison by the time you're eighteen, if you don’t let me help you.” The man sat back and crossed one leg over the other as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “There’s nothing mysterious about that. You’re going to call the cops, and then I’ll go to jail. So what? Least then I get three hots and a cot. That’s not so bad.” He jutted his chin out to show he didn’t care one bit.

  “Oh, so you’ve been there before?” The man’s brows rose.

  Jon-Luc shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why the hell didn’t this guy just call the cops and get it over with? Did he mean to hurt him instead? He seemed pretty sure of himself. Jon-Luc could have a gun, and this guy didn’t know that he didn’t. He did have a pocket knife, though. If he needed to, he could defend himself.

  “No, but I have friends that have and they say it’s not so bad. So why don’t you just call them already?” Jon-Luc’s hands started to tremble, so he slid them into his pockets before the guy noticed.

  “Is that what you want? You want me to call the police to come get you?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. You’re gonna anyway. Aren’t you?”

  “Well, that’s up to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I could help you with those visions. You aren’t crazy, Jon-Luc, no matter what your father said.”

  Jon-Luc jumped to his feet. “You know my father? I’m not going. I’m not going to no loony bin. I’d rather die first!” He yelled the last sentence and felt his eyes tear up. He swatted at his face before he started crying like a girl in front of this stranger.

  “Calm down, son. Just sit. I’m not going to let anyone take you to a mental hospital.”

  “I told you not to call me that!”

  “Fine. Your friends call you Luc. Can I call you that?”

  Jon-Luc lowered his head. “I suppose.” Then his head shot back up. “Wait, how do you know what my friends call me? I don’t know you.” He looked around for a means to escape. He wondered if he was faster than this man. The guy’s legs were pretty long. So were his arms for that matter, which gave him a long reach. Could he get past him in time?

  “Let’s just say we have something in common. Now sit back down. You have no need to be afraid of me. I want to help you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You know, Luc, there are some people in this world you can trust.”

  “Like you?” He laughed sarcastically. “Why should I trust you?”

  “To prove my point, I’m not going to call the police.”

  Luc looked at him warily. “You’re not?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “What are you going to do to me instead?” Then a thought occurred to him and he started backing away. “Huh uh, no way. I’m not no fucking fagot.”

  The man’s head tipped back and he roared with laughter. Luc stared at the guy. He laughed so hard his face turned red.

  “Hey.” But the man didn’t hear him. “Hey!” Luc yelled. “Don’t you laugh at me. I’ll knock you into next Sunday.”

  Luc was getting more pissed by the second. “Screw you, I’m outta here.” He turned toward the door.

  Finally the man’s laughter died down. “No, Luc, please. I’m sorry. It’s just that you took me by surprise. The last thing on my mind was making you my sex slave.”

  Luc put his hands on his hips and stared at the man. He’d been on the streets long enough to be propositioned by both men and women. He wasn’t stupid. Nothing in this world was free.

  “Yeah? Then what do you want from me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay, I’ll be on my way then.” He turned toward the front door and opened it.

  “Wait!” The man jumped out of the chair and Luc took a step back, then got into a fighting stance.

  The man stepped back and put his hands up. “Look, I’m serious. I really do want to help you. I know what it’s like to have visions and not have anyone to talk to about them. I learned a long time ago that there are things you can do to block them out without the use of drugs or alcohol. Luc, you don’t have to be alone with this.”

  Luc relaxed a bit and stared at the guy. He seemed to be telling the truth. How else did he know all that stuff about him? “What do I have to do?”

  “Just come by tomorrow afternoon and I’ll show you a few tricks to block the images so you can have a more productive life. That’s all.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll think about it.” With that, Luc had disappeared through the door without looking back. He had no intention of returning. He’d been getting along just fine by himself all these years. Then again, how did that Frank guy know all that stuff about him?

  He hadn’t told anyone. He hadn’t told anyone anything about himself since the day he’d been betrayed by his own mother. That hurt more than the fact that his father had wanted him put away. He’d already known his father didn’t care about him, but his mother? That really hurt. Cut him to the bone. The one person who should give you unconditional love was your mother, and if you can’t trust her, who can you trust?

  A week had passed since that night, but not once did Luc forget about his conversation with Frank. The man said he could help Luc, but what if it was a trap? What if he showed up and the police were waiting for him? Or he wanted him to join some crazy cult? No, he’d be better off alone.

  Then one night while he slept in an abandoned shack, he awoke to a man standing over him. It took a couple of seconds for his brain to register the image before him. The only light came from the full moon shining through the empty window.

  The man’s throat had been slit, and a wide gaping wound smiled back at him. Blood gushed like a river down the front of his shirt. So much blood. Luc had never seen that much blood in his life. The man’s mouth worked, but no words came out.

  Luc leapt to his feet in a panic. He reached his hand up to clamp over the wound and stanch the blood, but the man disappeared before Luc made contact. His body shook, his teeth rattled in his head. Suddenly he had to get away, so he ran. He ran like his life depended on it, with no destination in mind, he just had to get away.

  When he finally stopped, he found himself outside the Thibodeaux home. It was three in the morning. He didn’t know where else to go. Maybe he’d be safe here. Maybe this Frank guy really could help him. Luc snuck into in the house and curled up on a sofa in the parlor. His heart still beat a heavy tattoo in his chest. It took some time, but he finally succumbed to sleep.

  Frank Thibodeaux became the father Luc had dreamed about. He’d made him feel special about his gift, not like a freak and certainly not insane. He’d helped him deal with the fear and confusion he’d felt all his life. Not only did Luc respect him, but he loved him more than anyone he’d ever met. And now he was gone. The ache in his heart knew no end.

  Luc had been pulled from his reverie when he noticed the car had gone quiet and noticed Claude staring at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Will you only take cases in New Orleans?”

  “I really haven't figured it all out yet. The idea only began to form on the plane ride over here.”

  “Well, if there is anything I can do, just let me know.”

  “Thanks, buddy. I’ll do that.”

  3

  When the car came to a screeching halt, Jon-Luc was glad he’d put his seat belt on. Otherwise his body would have undoubtedly been thrown through the windshield.

  “Your driving sucks, Claude.”

  Claude stared at Jon-Luc and shru
gged. “You are still in one piece, no?” He turned and exited the vehicle. Jon-Luc followed. It was well after midnight and the streets were littered with the dregs of society.

  Prostitutes, gangbangers, and the homeless lined the railing overlooking the river. Jon-Luc followed Claude as he pushed his way through the crowd to the top of the stairs where a uniformed police officer held up the crime scene tape until they passed under it. Then they descended the stairs to a ledge that ran along the Seine.

  As they neared the body, policemen and crime scene techs moved out of their way. In a hushed tone someone said something in French, but all he could make out was the name Genevieve Lamont. The moment Jon-Luc set eyes on the body, he recognized the victim.

  The woman from the plane.

  Her naked body lay face up on the cold cement, and long gashes ran the length of her arms surrounded by blood. But that’s where his vision took a dramatic turn. This woman stared up at him with vacant holes, her mouth frozen in a silent scream. Blood caked her mouth and chin. Jon-Luc stared into the black void. The killer had not only taken her eyes, but her tongue as well.

  Claude crouched down next to the body. “This perp is escalating. The first two girls were dumped in the river as if they’d committed suicide. Only their wrists were cut.”

  “Any idea why he'd change his MO?” Jon-Luc asked, standing behind him.

  Claude stood and addressed his friend. “Oui. After the second girl was found, the press knew we had a killer on our hands. Maybe this guy has decided the cat is out of the bag, yes?”

  “Someone said the name, Genevieve Lamont. Was she famous?”

  “All the girls have been mannequins, yes.”

  Jon-Luc stared at Claude, “They’re what?”

  “Models, they are referred to as mannequins, no?”

  “If you say so.” Jon-Luc was stymied.

  Suddenly something strange happened to Jon-Luc. He was no longer seeing his friend in front of him, but looking down on the scene from the railing above. He could see himself talking to Claude, but couldn’t hear what was being said. It was as if he was seeing the scene through someone else’s eyes. This was something new. It had never happened before and Jon-Luc didn’t know how to stop it.