Gypsy Cradle: a psychic paranormal thriller (The Gypsy Medium Series Book 2)

by Andrea Drew

  I took a step forward and pointed right back at him. “No, you’re the only one here with the hide to accuse me of god knows what. You have the wrong fucking target and I’m tired of it, completely over it! I’ve wondered for a while now why you’re acting so goddam out of character. Then it all made sense, once Isabella pointed me in the right direction.”

  “It’s time for you to leave,” he said, the snarl in his voice increasing in volume.

  “Really? You don’t want to hear who’s poisoning your girl. Newsflash, it’s not you—but if I were making shit up as I went along, surely I’d point the finger at you? You’ve given me every reason to, but you’re not that evil. You just can’t take your fucking blinkers off.”

  Ryan turned his back to me and swore under his breath. Connor attempted to get my attention.

  “Gypsy—” The warning tone in his voice struck me like a stop sign, a red light, but there remained little chance of stopping me now.

  “It’s a work colleague, a fellow graphic designer. They’ve become best friends, and Christie’s told him all about you. He believes he knows you already, and I think the two of you have already crossed paths, right? You and Brenton? Who else would have the motive to sweep Christie out of the way? Then he’d have you all to himself.” I leaned back and crossed my arms, waiting for the fuse to ignite.

  “You stupid fucking bitch,” he spat through clenched teeth. He lunged for me, and Connor sharply stepped between us, staring Ryan down. Ryan turned to the wall, where a set of orange plastic chairs were stacked, and grappled with one of them, tearing them apart with a crash, flinging one of them down the corridor.

  It skidded along for a few meters, coming to a stop two rooms down with its legs in the air like a defeated insect.

  Some of the patients emerged from doorways, eyes wide and wet hands in mouths. The man with the long, dark hair and cavernous eyes giggled.

  From the end of the corridor a nurse and a burly security guard headed our way, their arms pistons and mouths set in lines of grim determination.

  “Excuse me,” said the security guard “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

  “It’s her, the bitch is goading me, chuck her out!”

  Connor grasped Ryan’s forearm, restraining him. “Let’s not make this any worse than it already is.”

  With blank, unseeing eyes, Ryan traipsed beside Connor, appearing chastised by Connor’s take-charge tone, head down, his sudden obedience casting some sense of calm at last.

  Connor stopped before the two rather stern figures. “I’m so sorry, I do apologize, we’ll go outside to cool off.”

  “We simply can’t tolerate violence of any kind. Please ask your friends to calm down and remain composed when they return.”

  Connor nodded. “I’ll see that they do.”

  We treaded toward the main entrance silently. As we reached the doors, they swished open and a light breeze waved us out.

  “I think some food, rest and new perspective will do both of you the world of good,” lectured Connor, his expression grim.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I’ll check in with you later. Message me if there’s any change.” Connor nodded before conferring with Ryan, who had lit up a cigarette. At something Connor said, he jerked his head in the semblance of a nod.

  I marched back to my car, eager to get the hell out of there and back to the safety of my small but familiar flat.

  Chapter Ten

  Monday 21st January, 6.17pm

  Jake couldn’t shake the creeping along his skin, or the voice in the back of his mind whispering hoarsely that he knew what he was like; Brenton would do something stupid.

  He knew that Brenton liked to blab to friends that they’d broken up because of his ‘baggage,’ and he hadn’t bothered correcting them. It would set off Brenton’s inbuilt drama alert and that only led to a scene, usually a nasty one.

  He liked Brenton, and they’d comforted each other with companionship and sex for quite a few months. There didn’t seem to be any harm in it—a good time had been had by all and they’d discussed the nature of the relationship up front like the two mature adults they were, or so he thought. He’d later realized that Brenton had oh-so-conveniently blocked that conversation from his memory and flicked on the white noise switch when they’d agreed to take time to determine compatibility before committing to monogamy. It had been an easygoing friendship there for a while, and it had been good for the briefest of periods.

  Until the night Jake, left Roberto’s with a friend, without Brenton.

  He remembered the night so vividly. They were parked outside his place. The streetlight shone across the dash of the car as, with knees turned to each other, they chatted easily, moving from one subject to the next with ease. Jake enjoyed being around someone so handsome and mature, plus he had a brain. He was almost intellectual, in fact. The smooth conversation flowed and Jake enjoyed the deep timbre voice of Cam, a straight-acting insurance actuary who made a lot of sense. Jake anticipated lounging in the living area with a glass of wine, seeing where the conversation would take them and if it would lead to anything further as both of them felt their way around the heavily veiled conversation, assessing and measuring, wondering if the spark would be enough to carry them any further.

  The car behind them lurched forward and a loud crunch put an end to any conversation at all. A figure jumped from the offending car. Jake swung the door open and turned to the source of the smash.

  “What the hell?” Jake demanded as he reached the tree at the side of his home. The streetlight caught the offender’s face, revealing a familiar jawline. “Brenton? Are you fucking mental?”

  “You’ve got a nerve accusing me, you—you—Judas. How could you betray me like this?”

  “Betray you? What are you on?”

  “Who the hell is that?” Brenton gestured at Cam. Cameron had his hands in his pockets, and took a step toward Jake.

  “I’ll be on my way. I’ll catch a cab.”

  “Don’t do that, Cam. I’m so sorry, this is crazy. Let me drive you home.”

  “It’s okay, mate, I’m out of here. See you at the club sometime.” He turned away from them both, storming toward the nearest main road.

  Jake’s voice gurgled in the back of his throat. “What the fucking hell is wrong with you?”

  “You, that’s what. You treat me like shit, you think it’s okay to take anyone home with you?”

  “You act like I do this all the time—and that’s apart from the fact that it’s none of your business what I do in the privacy of my own home, or outside it. We agreed, we discussed this, remember?”

  “How convenient.”

  Jake rubbed his forehead before coming to a decision and folding his arms. “This is it. We’re done, Brent. Complete bullshit. You’re lucky I didn’t hurt you. What the fuck are you going to do about my car?

  “It’s only a car. What about my feelings?”

  Jake wanted to hurt Brenton, make him see sense. He knew that would only make things worse, so he took a moment to regain some self-control.

  Jake took a step away from him before spinning back to point a finger at Brenton’s eyes.

  “You are deluded. You will fix my car, or I fix you.”

  “Very childish.”

  “Hilarious coming from you, Brent. Now piss off and go home before I do what my fists were made to do and break your nose.”

  “That’d be right, typical Neanderthal response.”

  “It’s a damn sight better than smashing my car for no reason other than petty, unjustified jealousy.”

  “Fine, I’m going home then. Your loss.”

  To add insult to injury, Brenton fluffed around the car before getting in, making sure of its condition. He examined the front end, then frowned and glared at Jake.

  “You broke my light.”

  Jake grabbed Brenton and shoved him onto the front of the car, pushing the back of his skull so tha
t one side of his face pressed firmly against the bonnet. He grappled him, jerking his arm up behind his back so hard that Brenton squealed.

  “Ouch, you’re hurting me, stop!”

  Jake leaned close, so that his lips moved inches from Brenton’s ear.

  “Listen here, you neurotic, deluded prick. We agreed we wouldn’t be exclusive. Now you smash up my car while I’m talking to the one person who seems half-decent. Tell me why I shouldn’t break your arm?”

  “Because we’re friends.” Brenton whimpered and began to cry.

  Bloody hell.

  Jake exhaled, and pushed Brenton up and away from the car before releasing his hold. He almost felt sorry for the guy. Obviously lonely and completed screwed up, he needed help.

  Brenton turned to glare at Jake, eyes wide, before scrambling into the car.

  As Brenton took off, Jake ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath.

  So why did Jake follow Brenton here, where he’d decided to set up camp outside Ryan’s house? Why now, after all this time and all he had been through?

  Because Brenton needed a friend and, unfortunately, Jake knew he figured prominently as one of the few people that knew him inside and out and accepted Brenton for the person he really was. Jake had resigned himself to being the only decent friend the guy had.

  He peered into the rear vision mirror. There Brenton sat, just as expected. Stalking a police officer that wanted nothing to do with him.

  Jake got out of the car, arms hanging by his side, and waited while Brenton unlocked his driver’s side door.

  The negotiations began in earnest.

  Monday 21st January, 7.02pm

  As I rolled my car into the driveway, I yanked on the hand brake, which screamed in protest. Of all the nerve.

  I’d been patient, loyal and done my best to accommodate Connor’s resentful daughter. The daughter he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge as a product of the affair with his sister-in-law. No more.

  He’d made his choice, and now I’d made mine. If he cringed at having the conversation with Christie, I’d just have to step up and take it on.

  I unlocked the door and the smell of slowly decaying food greeted me.

  Great. I’d have to do some housework.

  I climbed the stairs to my room and threw on my last clean tracksuit. Stepping back downstairs, I pounded the stereo until the sounds of the local radio station rose. Then I yanked open the cupboard door, knocking over cleaning materials until I found what I needed. Time for some therapeutic furious cleaning to clear the decks.

  As I cleared the benches prior to scrubbing them down, I wondered if I’d exhaust myself to the point where I’d actually sleep for a change. I damn well hoped so. Isabella owed me some answers and I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Monday 21st January, 7.39pm

  Connor sat beside Christie, who had thankfully packed herself back into bed. She didn’t look good—a gray pallor was spreading across her skin, and a lock of hair hung over her face. It blew upwards as she let out a breath.

  He wondered what she thought, what went through that head of hers. Had the hallucinations taken hold?

  The niece he knew in all likelihood deserved acknowledgement as his daughter. She had become so precious to him over the years, but he couldn’t say it aloud. Would he lose her to the grips of insanity, as she spun out of control in a world of her own making until she lost every grip on reality?

  Thinking about it wouldn’t help. When she recovered, he’d suggest an outing, something special. Maybe the beach or a picnic in the botanical gardens. As each minute passed, the knowledge that she could slip away from him, sinking into oblivion without ever knowing how much she truly meant to him, burned at Connor, almost choking him.

  He wouldn’t lose her, he couldn’t. Connor kicked off his shoes and pushed his back into the chair, stretching out and making himself as comfortable as possible in a hard backed hospital chair. A night guarding his daughter would be a karmic release, a penance for not spending more time with her, for ignoring his duty and failing to confront the most difficult conversation he might ever have. It seemed the current crisis had forced the issue.

  Please, if she recovered from this, he would make it up to her, be the father that she needed.

  He just hoped he’d get the chance to tell her what she meant to him.

  Monday 21st January, 8.36pm

  Ryan arrived home and as the engine purred, his dull eyes fixed on an acacia bush. Flicking the ignition off, he opened the car and got out, the ache of exhaustion burning its way through his legs, and he massaged his temple as the dull ache of a headache took hold.

  As he trudged toward the front door with key in hand, a car parked in the street caught his eye. A medium-sized Japanese car, white, the two men inside in what appeared to be an intense conversation. One of them looked like that weirdo Brenton. Attempting to get a peep without staring, Ryan regarded the other one, whom he didn’t recognize. False alarm, then; a case of mistaken identity.

  He unlocked the door and sank down in an armchair. Probably just as well he’d been kicked out of the hospital; he needed a shower and hadn’t eaten since very early that morning. Christie dominated his thoughts. He’d known of her intense stress but never thought she’d slip over the edge. Witnessing her psychotic state had thrown him into a whirlwind of worry, especially after he’d treated her like crap.

  As for his night of drinking which left him paralytic and recovering from a fateful evening spent with a man, he’d succeeded in blocking most of it from his mind. Almost.

  Other than the face of the guy, taunting him, leering at him. He’d never considered himself that way. He’d only ever been attracted to women. The thoughts wouldn’t go away, the voice in his head demanding answers, asking him how and why he’d woken up in bed with a homosexual man.

  Ryan pushed himself up from the armchair and lumbered toward the bathroom. A shower would do him the world of good. Life always got better after sleep. He’d visit Christie and take it from there. Food and sleep would give him the strength he would need to confront whatever the future might bring. He hoped this would make them stronger, bring them closer together. She had to get better; the alternative, well, it sounded all too gruesome. He'd face it tomorrow.

  Monday 21st January, 8.16pm

  “What the hell are you doing here?” said Jake, his voice low and quiet.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” murmured Brenton.

  “Give me a break. Let me guess, you wanted just one more glance at Ryan, to be in his space, to sit outside his house and be near him, right?”

  Brenton’s face fell onto the steering wheel. Jake had told him what he needed to hear. He just couldn’t hear it at the time. Breaking up hurt like hell, its searing pain unbearable. He figured that if he could just see Ryan one last time, he could pack away the remnants of his feelings forever, put an end to his obsession and move on.

  Ryan had probably forgotten him by now, relegated him to the ‘too-hard’ basket and got on with life. He needed a reminder. He’d packed what little possessions he would need and withdrawn all the money he had and rented a car, paying cash. When Christie had collapsed, there’d been a flurry of worried figures around her, murmuring and cloistering around her, with hands folded and frowns deepening. His colleagues had been shooed away once the paramedics arrived, and he joined them in speculating about what had happened, whispering sentiments of shock and concern. Truth be known, he’d surprised himself. She was only meant to feel a little bit sick, not collapse. He’d gone too far, given her more than he planned. He should have paid more attention when he emptied the liquid into the plastic bottle to take to work.

  Now it was too late. He couldn’t go back, no matter how much he wanted to. God, he wished he could explain it to her, the rush of love, the pressure, the anxiety. She’d understand. Shit, he’d ruined his life and hers now.

  After an acceptable amount of time had passed and the rubberneckers ha
d returned to their desks, he’d collected his things and left quietly, after speaking to the HR department. He’d told them that as he was a close friend of Christie’s, he was struggling to focus, which, with what little remnants of his conscience remained, surprisingly, turned out to be true. Of course, he’d been told to take as much time as he needed, which was just what he needed. He hadn’t returned, and didn’t intend to. Of course, he’d remained undetected and would probably fade away without a ripple. He flicked his colleague’s one last gaze goodbye. He wouldn’t miss the rest of them, they were fakers, and lied like a cheap watch. It would be better if he could fix things up on his own.

  As Brenton rested his forehead on the steering wheel, his chest tightened and his throat closed. He could lose Ryan forever. With Jake here, he had no chance of sneaking into Ryan’s home to plead his case to explain the lengths he’d gone to so they could be together.

  His shoulders shook. After a moment, Jake’s hand rested on his back.

  When the spasms of grief had passed, he sat up and wiped his eyes.

  “Drive, let’s move further down the street,” Jake said.

  “What?”

  “Ryan might recognize us. The last thing we need is a scene. He’s a cop remember? Come on, let’s roll the car down.”

  Brenton shuffled back up into the seat and started the car. He cast a final look inside Ryan’s home. “Let’s go home,” murmured Jake.

  Brenton didn’t reply.

  “We could watch a movie, order a pizza,” said Jake. Yet the poison that Brenton had administered to Christie earlier that day did not come up in conversation. Nor did Brenton intend to reveal any of it to Jake. Now that the spreading evil had left him, he was ashamed. Once Jake had left, he’d right the wrongs.

  Monday 21st January, 11.59pm

  Cleaning out the fridge, mopping floors, vacuuming carpets, grocery shopping and cleaning toilets and bathrooms had the desired effect. I flopped onto my bed with a groan. I knew lying down without getting pajamas on first would mean I’d struggle to get back up to change, but I’d had enough. My bones ached, my back tingled and my legs throbbed. As I flung my arms across the bed and closed my eyes, the satisfaction of a clean home and a fully stocked refrigerator lulled me to sleep.