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

by Andrea Drew

  “I remember feeling really sick at work. I thought I’d vomit at my desk—it was horrible. Then I had these freaky nightmares, about slimy creatures at the door and windows, trying to get in to attack me. What happened to me?”

  “You were vomiting and slept a lot. Sometimes you said things that made sense, other times…not so much.”

  “Oh god, how embarrassing.” Christie brought her hands up to cover her face. “What did I say? Oh, shit…don’t tell me.”

  “Nothing too incriminating; don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Connor sat on the edge of her bed. “Although you did scream at Gypsy, calling her an evil witch and yelled at her for torturing your brother.”

  “That won’t help relations.” Christie swung the bedcovers aside. The hospital room door opened and Ryan stood in the doorway.

  “Ryan!” Christie flung her arms out in greeting. Ryan rushed toward her and wrapped her in a hug, whispering into her shoulder, “Thank God you’re okay. I’m so glad. I love you so much.”

  When Ryan pulled away, Christie brushed tears from her face. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

  “I’ll bet.” Ryan’s expression relaxed and color began to return to his face.

  “I’ve been asked to pee in this cup. After that, I’ll have a shower. I’ll be back soon.” Christie pushed herself up off the bed and shuffled toward the bathroom.

  When the door had closed behind her, Connor spoke quietly. “I was worried there for a while.”

  “I’ll never take her for granted again.”

  Connor took a tentative step toward Ryan. “Ryan, the staff did do a test for poison in Christie’s blood? For certain?”

  “Apparently they did—I asked them to. They tested for the usual heavy metals, arsenic, mercury, lead, and she got the all clear. She hasn’t been poisoned.” Ryan sank down onto the unmade bed.

  “I’m just wondering what caused this, that’s all. I know she’s been under stress, but the vomiting and hallucinations takes things to a whole new level.”

  “I know. They’ll probably discharge her soon. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets moved to another ward shortly.” Ryan’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he let it ring.

  “I think I’ll grab a quick coffee. Won’t be long,” said Connor.

  As Connor reached the door, Ryan put a hand out to him. “Have you had any sleep recently?”

  “No. Wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

  “It looks like Christie will be home soon, anyway. Get some sleep.”

  “I will. Thanks, Ryan.”

  Connor headed down the corridor. As he passed the nurses’ station, a young male nurse stepped into the corridor.

  “Mr. Reardon? Connor Reardon,” said the nurse. “I wonder if I could have a quiet word please, in private.”

  Tuesday 22nd January, 7.21am

  Brenton watched as Ryan took off, waiting a minute or two before getting out of the car. There were two other houses nearby, but large trees blocked his vision.

  He stepped through the front garden, giving the windows a quick nudge to determine whether they had been unlocked. He looked in to see if anyone was inside. Empty. As he reached the side of the property, he noticed an old-fashioned window frame, one he could prise open. Perfect.

  The side of the house was in shade, with quite a few bushes flowering, which meant he would be hidden, and the window level would allow easy access. Flicking a glance left and right, he latched on to the frame and levered one leg up and over, and in less than a minute, he reached what appeared to be a laundry.

  Brenton paced through the house, scrutinizing each room, opening cupboards and examining their contents. He found clothes, shoes, toiletries and underwear. He imagined Ryan eating his breakfast, chatting to Christie. He had deliberately left the bedroom until last. The room where Ryan slept and changed would be his favorite.

  He noticed the carpet changed color, and a sweet waft of aftershave reached his nose. He was close. The bed was unmade and clothing in various shapes and sizes had been flung across the floor.

  Brenton swept a hand across the sheets, hoping that maybe they would still be warm. No luck. He fell backward onto the bed, rubbing his arms across the bed linen. As he breathed in and smiled, he thought he detected the faint scent of deodorant and soap. Ryan had slept here.

  As he lay there inhaling Ryan’s scent, his gaze was caught by a bright red t-shirt lying on the floor next to a pair of khaki shorts. He raised himself up from the bed, and picked up the two items, inhaling their fragrance. The distinct aroma of Ryan washed over him. He fell back on the bed with eyes closed, carefully arranging the clothes across his body. He imagined how it would feel to have Ryan moving across him, brushing his fingers against his skin. As Brenton’s fantasy took over, his breathing slowed and he relaxed.

  Tuesday 22nd January, 7.50am

  I returned from my power walk with a thin film of sweat across my skin and made straight for the shower, hoping that afterwards I’d be fortunate and get some sleep. Surely, Isabella would be aware of Brenton’s location. If she’d seen him preparing the poison and administering it to Christie, she should know if the slimy worm had left the country.

  I’d love to get my hands on him, sneaky little prick.

  Interesting, though, that Ryan had gone home with two men Saturday night. The mask that many people adopted as a public persona, particularly those that worked in the service of others, could be quite a revelation. I wondered what mask Ryan wore, and if he had ever considered himself bisexual? Although Isabella had told me he hadn’t slept with either of them, he didn’t know that yet. Still, Ryan’s protests made sense in light of what he thought he’d got up to with Brenton. Justification could be a powerful thing, particularly if a person had things he’d rather left unsaid. Christie, of course, remained none the wiser. I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors if I were the one to tell her what I knew. I’d leave that to Ryan to disclose at some point in the future, if ever.

  Drying myself, I headed for the bedroom, looking forward to snuggling down into the warmth of my mattress, even if the early morning light made its way through the blinds. I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing for a revelation: the location of Brenton Perkins.

  After over an hour of tossing and turning with no sign of Isabella, I realized it wouldn’t happen. I threw back the covers and began to get dressed. I’d head back to the hospital. Maybe by now they’d tested her and treated Christie with the antidote.

  Tuesday 22nd January, 9.55am

  The nurse seemed nervous. He rubbed his hands together, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

  “Mr. Reardon, I’m not sure how to bring this up. It’s a rather delicate subject.”

  “I’m on my way home. How about you dive right in and say it?”

  The nurse pulled open a drawer beside the desk. “We received this today after an early morning visit from a woman named Gypsy. She insisted we conduct tests to determine ethylene glycol levels in Ms. Reardon’s blood, but I, er, wanted to speak to you about the other matter.”

  Connor read the fax. Gypsy. She’d gone over his head.

  “The fax was sent by a friend of mine, Gypsy Shields. I’ll take this up with her. She’s not a complete crackpot. I think a test would be a good idea, just to eliminate it as a possibility.” Connor rose from his seat.

  “Please, Mr. Reardon. I wanted to clarify. Is there any substance to her claim that you are Ms. Reardon’s biological father?”

  “It’s never been proven by a paternity test, if that’s what you’re getting at. But Gypsy is convinced I’m Christie’s father.”

  “Would you like a paternity test done?”

  Connor rubbed his chin. “I guess if you’re willing to do so. It would certainly explain a few things.” He wondered if he really wanted to force the issue. He decided he did, if it meant saving Christie’s life.

  “We’ll conduct both tests and put an urgent rush on them. Stay in touch, Mr. Reardon. We
may need your assistance.”

  “You can count on it,” Connor said over his shoulder as he strode away.

  He headed for the car with his hands squeezed into fists and heat rising up from his throat. Gypsy had some explaining to do.

  Tuesday 22nd January, 10.21am

  Christie was sitting up in bed with Ryan standing by her side when the doctor arrived on his rounds.

  “Ms. Reardon, good morning.”

  Christie smiled at him. “Good morning, doctor. Any news?”

  “Well, obviously you’re doing much better today. In fact, so much better that you’ll be moved to another ward in the next hour or so.”

  Ryan took a step forward. “Moved? To where?”

  “The Banksia unit is no longer appropriate for your needs. You’ll be moved to probably Two North, a more general medical ward. We’re awaiting a final test. Then with a bit of luck, you’ll be discharged in the next 24 hours or so.” The doctor removed his hands from his pockets.

  “Sounds great,” Christie said, reaching for Ryan’s hand. “What sort of test are you doing?”

  The doctor shuffled his feet and cleared his throat before speaking. “We believe your coffee Monday morning may have been tampered with, the additive of something quite specific and which hasn’t been tested for yet. We’ve put a rush on the results and should have them in an hour or so. We’ll let you know as soon as we know.”

  “Poison?” said Christie, flicking a glance at Ryan.

  “Possibly. We received information that you may have been given a specific poison. One that is traceless unless specifically searched for. As I said, we’ll have information on the test results in an hour or so. In the meantime, someone will be here shortly to transfer you to another ward. You’re doing nicely, though. I honestly don’t think you’ll be with us for longer than another day.”

  Christie glanced at Ryan. “So she might have been right.”

  “Maybe.” Ryan’s voice was low and dangerous, and he spoke through clenched teeth. Christie considered this for a moment, then threw back the covers on the bed and placed her feet on the cold hospital linoleum floor.

  The doctor watched them. “Is there anything I should know?”

  “No, no,” said Christie and Ryan almost in unison, and Christie laughed nervously. She wriggled on the bed as she stood up. “I’m pretty keen to move wards, though. I’d better have a shower and start packing my belongings.”

  “Good idea. Someone will be along to help you in an hour or so. As soon as we have the results, we’ll let you know.”

  The doctor left the room, his shoes clacking on the polished linoleum floor.

  “Good news, then.” Christie turned to Ryan, who had fixed his gaze on his shoes. “Come on help me pack my stuff up.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Tuesday 22nd January, 11.19am

  I’d managed to get an hour or two of sleep. Better than nothing, I guess. I threw back the covers and headed toward the drawers, rummaging through them to find socially acceptable clothes. I’d just begun dressing when I heard the click of the front door.

  Probably Connor.

  I abandoned the shower idea, turning off the water, and reached for a robe. The door jolted open, and there in the doorway stood Connor, muscles rigid, teeth clenched and the blood flushing his face. What the hell?

  “Connor,” I said, drying myself.

  “How dare you. Of all the nerve!” Connor’s deep voice reverberated through the bathroom.

  “I need to get dressed. What’s wrong with you?”

  “You told the nursing staff that I was Christie’s father. You had no right.” He clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “I am so over this!” I stepped into my underwear and glared at Connor. “Of all people, you don’t believe that anyone could possibly poison Christie. Yet if anything happens to her, you don’t want to have that conversation with anyone. What if she needs a blood transfusion? What will you do then? All care, no responsibility, right?”

  “It wasn’t your place to say anything. You know that.” He spat the words through clenched teeth, but his voice sounded childish and sulky to my ear.

  “I am so over this! You’re telling me that you’re too afraid to tell Christie you might be her father? Have you ever considered she’d be overjoyed to have a father, considering she thought she lost him years ago?” I stepped into my jeans.

  “Like I said, it’s none of your business.”

  “You’re kidding, right? None of my business? Some spirit appears to warn me that Christie’s life is in danger, and that if a blood or organ donor is needed in an emergency, you fit the bill. In spite of all of that, you aren’t sure? My god, with your abilities I always thought you were in my corner, that you had my back. It sounds like you don’t believe me anymore.”

  Connor turned away, tightening his fists before returning to face me. I began brushing my hair.

  “This is big news, and damn it, this is private! How do you think I felt when some stranger, some young nursing graduate, asked me about Christie’s paternity? Do you think you could have given me a heads-up, some idea that you’d told the hospital staff about this?”

  “No, I don’t!” I said, and threw the hairbrush on the bed in disgust. “You forced the issue, Connor. What’s so scary that you can’t have a conversation with Christie? What’s the worst that can happen? Do you really think she’ll stop talking to you over something like this? Do you think she’ll be upset that you kept the secret from her? Seriously?”

  The muscles in Connor’s jaw were twitching almost uncontrollably. I knew the look. It meant that Connor had reined in his temper as much as possible and was reaching his limits.

  “Why, Gypsy? Do you really want me have a conversation like this with Christie? Why can’t it stay a secret?”

  “Hell Connor! You think I forced the issue. Seriously? I was a messenger, nothing more, nothing less. I can’t control Christie and Ryan’s reaction, just as I can’t control yours. Somehow, I’m the bad guy. Christie resents me, pure and simple. I’m not surprised, when she’s been visiting her weasel fucking brother in jail—of course she hates me!”

  “Stay away from Christie. You’re making things worse!”

  “I’m trying to save her fucking life.” My voice sounded shrill and hysterical to my ears. I couldn’t believe this. When faced with a choice between his psychopathic nephew and me, he’d chosen me. He’d supported me, helping me deal with the fallout after Aaron not only tried to kill me but also broke into my home. I’d always thought I could count on Connor’s support no matter what. It seemed my confidence was misplaced.

  Connor stormed out of the room and stomped downstairs. I heard the bang of drawers in what sounded like the hallway cupboard.

  I bounded down the stairs.

  Connor panted as he ripped items from the cupboard, flinging them across the hallway floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? Packing a bag.”

  “Has it really come to this?”

  My heart, which hammered in my chest, kicked up a notch. We’d got through the argument with Christie and Ryan, and so I’d never thought he’d leave me, ever. Connor packing a bag seemed unreal, impossible.

  Ice filled my veins and I reached out to touch Connor’s shoulder.

  “Don’t do this, Connor. Not now. Don’t be stupid. We’re already under a lot of pressure.”

  He shrugged my hand away. “I need time to think. I’m checking into a hotel.” He’d found a faded green duffle bag and dragged it behind him up the stairs.

  “This is ridiculous! Stop, Connor, we can work this out. We’ve been through worse than this.” I followed him, my breath coming in short gasps, a side effect of sobbing. Connor either didn’t hear me or completely ignored my pleas.

  When I entered the room, half of the closet’s contents were strewn across the floor.

  I gave a valiant last attempt to make him stay, seizing his ar
m, but he simply shrugged away from my grasp.

  “Where will you stay?” I said.

  “I don’t know. There’s a motel nearby. I’ll see if they have any vacancies.” His head was down he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “So what, are we breaking up? Somehow I never imagined it would come to this.”

  “Me neither,” he said. He stuffed the items into the bag and zipped it up. “I’ll be in touch.” And just like that, he headed out of the room.

  “Why don’t you sleep on it? And if you’re really serious about leaving, you can take your stuff first thing in the morning.”

  Connor hung his head, the scruffy old duffle bag hanging forlornly in his left hand.

  “Goodbye, Gypsy,” he mumbled, and he closed the bedroom door behind him.

  I listened to his feet bounding down the stairs, the front door opening and slamming closed. He unlocked the boot, threw in the bag with a thud, and started the car up. Within seconds, he reversed the car out of the driveway and the silence enveloped me, almost deafening.

  In the blink of an eye, Connor exited my life.

  When I spoke to Isabella the previous day, she had told me that if Connor left me over this then he wasn’t the man I thought he was. I’d never believed that he’d leave me, ever, and certainly not over something like this.

  As the realization dawned on me, the ice in my veins reached my chest. My knees buckled and I landed on the bedroom floor. Tears flowed freely, with no one to see them.

  I pounded my fist on the ground and the hot tears fell faster.

  Connor and I were finished.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tuesday 22nd January, 12.31pm

  Christie’s eyes were open wide as the orderly wheeled her down the busy corridor. Ryan held her hand, and they turned left, making for the lift to reach their destination, ward two.

  “Something’s wrong, Ryan.”

  “What?” Ryan lowered his chin and he gazed at Christie, to see her complexion a pasty gray. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”