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

by Andrea Drew

  “I’d already talked him into ringing the hospital to confess and save her life. Killing him won’t fix this.” Jake’s pallid face almost glowed. He scrutinized Ryan and waited for a response.

  None came.

  Jake pushed Brenton the last few feet to the front door. “Get out!”

  Brenton went first, levering the front door open with a forearm as his hand was cupped over his nose. They shuffled toward the car.

  As the screen door slammed behind them, Ryan slumped into an armchair.

  Tuesday 22nd January, 8.24pm

  Connor and I ran to our cars.

  “Meet you there!” I yelled. I figured he’d get there faster than I would, especially in an unmarked cop car with a siren.

  It took forever to unlock the damn car. My hands were shaking so badly I struggled to open the thing; then the battery on my digital car lock was flat and of course, in the quiet that was eleven months of seemingly peaceful existence who would have thought I’d need to change the battery to cope with an emergency like this?

  I opened the door and swung my body, landing hard on the driver’s seat. I shoved the key into the ignition and took a second to compose myself. I shook the stress out of my hands and breathed deeply, attempting to orient myself and gain some sense of calm. I was kidding myself—my fingers trembled so hard I struggled to keep hold of the steering wheel.

  Slamming the door closed, I took off, steering the car out of the driveway. How would I react if Ryan had killed Brenton? A picture of bodies pushed its way in. Bodies battered and bleeding were strewn across their lounge room floor with dark red sprays decorating the walls.

  I pushed the image away fast. I needed calm, not imaginary pictures of a worst-case scenario. I pushed hard against the persistent horrific image until it left for good. I breathed out. The rush of relief at being back in the fold of Connor’s love had dimmed after learning of the crisis with Ryan. The last thing we needed now was another crisis, a fit of passion involving Ryan and Brenton. I just hoped we got there in time.

  I’d been lost in the past for too long and so had Connor. Right now, we needed to handle the hell out of the here and now.

  The terror surging through my veins sprung from the unknown, and in the face of the unknown, my mind conjured up the wildest images possible. I knew Connor would be there with me. That might not prepare me for the sight of bleeding, broken bodies strewn across a living room floor though. I’d been lucky, I hadn’t seen many corpses and I damn well didn’t want to see the general gruesomeness that would result if Ryan had beaten the crap out of Brenton. Or did I? I’d surprised myself with my taste of vengeance when I’d held Aaron captive. No way in hell, I’d be going there again. There was too much at stake.

  When Aaron had almost killed me in the hit and run, I’d discovered a new very handy skill. It had saved my life once already. I’d been able to track Aaron down telepathically by sifting through signature visions or pictures to see the memory of the kidnapping I’d interrupted. I’d found him and discovered his plan to break into my house and torture me. So I damn well tortured him back. I was pretty near considering doing the same to Brenton after all the crap I’d been through. Considering, but I’d learned my lesson. It was one thing to crave something, another to put plans into action. Plus I hadn’t been able to find Brenton over the last couple of days, which seemed to be a blessing in disguise.

  Of course, if I had found Brenton, I might have made him pay before turning him in to the cops. Wouldn’t work this time though, we’d have to sort this one out the regular way.

  I drove like a demon, hoping I could somehow get there in short order, although it was at best a fifteen minute journey. Thankfully, it was daytime traffic, but I still cursed and screamed at other drivers to get out of my damn way—didn’t they understand the emergency?

  Adrenaline coursed through me, exhaustion a thing of the past. I needed to power on. I drove at full capacity, and tried not to think about the gauge showing I was slightly over the speed limit, a consequence of having a cop for a boyfriend.

  As I swerved around cars that were turning right, I cursed them. I deliberately focused on the present, banishing all thoughts other than what desperately needed to be done. It worked. I pulled to a stop outside Ryan and Christie’s place. Connor’s car was already parked outside. I slammed the car door shut and locked it, before I peered around their home, at the driveway, the garden, the windows, one of which had been left open. The place looked surprisingly quiet. No other cars around. No signs of screaming, fighting, blood, gore or drama.

  I found the front door open. Ryan sat slumped against the hallway wall, his head in his hands. Connor crouched beside him. Neither of them seemed to notice my arrival.

  “We need to call it in.” Connor’s deep, quiet voice sounded somber.

  Ryan didn’t respond. His fingers laced his hair, and what I could see of his face looked ashen. This different Ryan disconcerted me, his usual confidence a thing of the past. The shaking, shambolic figure with head down appeared confused, unsure, and not the assured person I’d known.

  Then, he might have just killed a man. If he had, I shuddered to think of the impact this would have on the shell of a man before me, as well as his girlfriend and possible future father to be.

  “I didn’t kill him. He was alive when he left,” Ryan mumbled, answering my unasked question.

  I stood rooted to the floor a few feet away, behind the carpet trim separating the tiled hallway from the living area, and watched events unfold in stark silence.

  Connor said, “I’ll call it in, then we’ll work it out. Break and enter, attempted murder, this is serious stuff. Let the experts help.”

  He extended a hand to Ryan and lifted him from the cold tiled floor. As Ryan stood, he stumbled on shaky legs. He regarded me blankly before acknowledging my presence with the trace of a nod.

  He fell into an armchair with his limbs hanging over the sides. He looked exhausted—had he worn himself out beating Brenton to death? The twerp deserved it, but Connor couldn’t stand to have another family member in jail. He headed for the same corner, lips moving slowly as he murmured into the phone.

  I stood unmoving as he passed me. My heart pounded as I saw speckles of blood on the carpet. The scene reminded me far too much of my run in with Aaron almost a year ago. I flicked a glance at Ryan hoping he would speak. As I padded toward a chair in the opposite corner and perched on the edge of my seat, his voice broke. I wondered if my thoughts about whether he’d murdered a man had anything to do with the timing of his speech.

  “I didn’t kill him, but I wanted to. I reckon I broke his nose and smashed his eye,” He brought his arms up to cross them.

  My lips moved without words, a fish out of water. Eventually my voice box connected with my mind and the words came. “When did they leave?”

  “Ten minutes ago.” Ryan left his chair, heading for the bathroom, probably to clean the dried blood from his hands.

  Connor finished his official business and shoved his phone into a pocket. “They’ll be here soon.”

  “What happens now?” I said, rubbing my chin.

  “They’ll take a statement. If they consider Ryan used excessive force, they’ll take it further, talking to his senior. Highly unlikely, though. Then they’ll find Brenton and book him.”

  Ryan arrived back with chin high, seemingly a changed man. “Christie, she’ll be okay, I’m sure of it but if she wakes up...”

  “It’s okay, mate, remember what the doctor said. Any news and they’ll call straight away,” said Connor.

  Ryan’s feet were wide apart, his arms crossed. “I beat the crap out of him and I’m glad. He’s lucky to be alive...”

  I regarded Connor, wishing I could crawl into his head and get a sense of what he felt. I’d tried to get a handle on Brenton with my telepathic signature ability. I hoped to hell Connor hadn’t got in the way. At times, I suffered sneaking suspicions that Connor barred me from learning what he was
really feeling, still not completely comfortable with what I could do. Damn sentinels.

  He approached Ryan, speaking in a low, soothing voice. “I get it, I do. It can get to us…The Mr. Stinky case did this to more than just you. But you’re not alone. It’s over now. Christie will be fine. We can put this behind us.”

  The Mr. Stinky case? I wondered if that name had been given to the ongoing serial assault investigation Connor had mentioned briefly. He didn’t like to bring work home, so when he did, I knew it meant a disturbing case had got to him, one that pushed the boundaries. It had taken eighteen months before they caught the criminal. Ryan must have been hunting him, too.

  Ryan raised an eyebrow. “It’ll come up once they get here. Excessive force. Then an interview with the senior sergeant and maybe a board hearing—the last thing I need.”

  Connor stood directly across from Ryan, the light casting shadows across his handsome face. God. “It won’t get that far. Brenton drew blood. Surely you saw the scratch in the mirror?”

  Ryan gave Connor the thumbs-up signal.

  Connor continued, “I’ve been there. I understand mate. It builds up, and creeps like him get under your skin. Especially when they threaten the ones you love.” He clapped a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “You got this. I’m in your corner.”

  Ryan shook his head. “I let it get to me. I’ve been a prick. To Christie, to you and Gypsy.” Ryan levered his body around before swinging back. “A tough case is no excuse. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out,” Connor said, the timbre of his voice reassuring and deep.

  I damn well hoped so.

  Tuesday 22nd January, 8.29pm

  Drips and spatters of blood had dried on Brenton’s face, and tears had added to the mess. After Ryan threatened him, insisting he shut the hell up, the hysterical screams had been suppressed into muffled whimpers. His nose sat at a frightening angle, and his left eye was bruised and battered. He limped for the car with Jake following closely behind.

  “I’m dying,” he panted, dried and fresh blood mingling with dirt from his hands where he had wiped his face repeatedly.

  “Shut up,” puffed Jake. “Need to get to hospital.”

  Neither of them uttered a word until they reached the car. Hunched over and gasping, they fell against the driver’s side door. Jake spoke first.

  “No. You’re not driving. Ridiculous,” he said. “I’m not going to jail. Let me get my stuff.” Brenton lunged for the boot, but Jake barred his way.

  “Brenton!” Jake ripped his hand away from the car lock. He reached for Brenton’s shaking right forearm where he had almost connected the key with the car door. Jake grabbed at his shoulder, pushing his hand down onto Brenton’s arm in a vain attempt to wrestle him for the keys to open the driver’s side door. He used his hip and shoulder to push Brenton aside.

  “Fuck off, Jake!” Brenton pushed back.

  “Fuck off? After everything I’ve done, all I’ve been through, that’s all you have?” Jake’s face was crimson. The blood flowing from Brenton’s nose had slowed to a drip. The trail it had left became smaller as it led from the front door down the driveway to the bitumen.

  They eyed each other. Initially, the suburban street had been empty, thankfully without witnesses. Their good luck couldn’t last. A screen door slammed and a middle-aged woman emerged, stepping carefully down the front steps, walking across her garden to stand at the curb on the other side of the road, with hands on hips, eagle-eyed as events unfolded.

  “Get in the fucking car. Now!” Brenton’s voice reached fever pitch. He yelled at full volume again and Jake relented. The bystander took a step closer, with hands on hips. Jake stomped over to the passenger door and wrenched on the door handle. It wouldn’t open.

  “Are you going to unlock it, then?” he demanded of Brenton. Through the window, he could see his friend struggling to open the locked car with trembling fingers.

  “Hurry up!” roared Jake. He patted his pockets, feeling for the bulk of his telephone. The entire situation had escalated way past the point where he previously estimated he would be in control. Previously he’d been able to restrain Brenton’s nervous hysteria, but something, or rather someone, had taken hold of his friend in a way that terrified him. If he could get the authorities here, the mess could be nipped in the bud early, before Brenton did something stupid, like jump off a bridge. He knew now, with horrifying certainty, that he had underestimated him.

  Time to call an ambulance. The mobile however, had gone missing in action.

  The car bounced as Brenton threw his battered body into the car seat. He shoved the key into the ignition and leaned over to unlock Jake’s side of the car. The passenger door swung open with considerable force.

  “Drive!” roared Jake, slamming it shut.

  Brenton took off, revving the vehicle, almost past its capabilities. The windscreen wipers started up despite there being no trace of rain. The car lurched forward violently until it skidded to a stop. Brenton had stalled it.

  “Drive, drive, go, go, go!” Jake, rubbed his face with his hands.

  He couldn’t look. The fact that Brenton wouldn’t answer his question, combined with a sense of impending doom, meant he struggled with the reality of what they faced. Sure, he’d got Brenton out of scrapes before, but this was different. He struggled to drag Brenton out of the alternating hysteria and terror, tinged with a sense of apathy, accepting his fate, whatever that may be. Jake wasn’t sure if he wanted to be a part of it anymore.

  Tears dripped from Brenton’s mangled eye sockets. “Shut up, shut up, I’m trying!”

  He started the car up again, jamming his foot down on the accelerator more than needed. They drove for a minute without speaking.

  “To the hospital,” Jake said.

  “No!”

  “Well, let me fucking drive!”

  “No,” cried Brenton, “No!”

  “Do you want to die? Do you?”

  Brenton didn’t answer.

  A flurry of red fur flashed in front of the car’s grille. Brenton jammed on the brakes and the car skidded, but not in time to escape the sickening scrape of the car’s wheel arches along planters lining the nature strip. Before they had time to cry out, a young woman with long blonde hair sprinted after the dog.

  Brenton swung the steering wheel for hard left. Jake threw his hands out in a grab for it, but too late. It had already locked up. Brenton screamed. The small russet cocker spaniel pup and his round-eyed owner made it to safety as the car careened toward a gray power pole.

  Tuesday 22nd January, 8.31pm

  The bell rang. Connor sprung up and bounded over to answer it. Two men in navy blue uniforms had pulled open the squeaking screen door. The blond male constable flashed a badge, gestured to his colleague, and disappeared. His dark-haired colleague stepped over the threshold.

  I’d been here before, eleven months ago. I had some idea of how this rolled out. The uniformed cop entered the living area, and ducked through the archway.

  “Martin” The constable folded his frame onto the couch. Connor remained standing, rubbing the back of his neck. I sat in the chair further down the room in an attempt to remain a fly on the wall. I wondered if I’d be asked to leave.

  “So tell me about this break and enter.” The statement from our dark-haired friend, who I saw from his nametag was Constable Jones, carried a hint of cynicism.

  “Yeah,” muttered Ryan, sitting on the arm of a chair at the edge of the lounge room.

  “Can you run through it?” A large notepad appeared on Constable Jones’ knee.

  “Well, er, Christie, my girlfriend, is in intensive care. Touch and go.” He gestured with one hand, a man with a whole lot to worry about, and answers coming too slowly. “I got a text from the alarm company while I was at the hospital−”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “I don’t know, maybe an hour ago.”

  “Okay. Carry on.”

  “
When I got here, I found Jake and the perpetrator in the lounge room and…”

  I saw a solid, black mass of silence fill the room. The outcome of this could mean the difference between a career continuing or ending. Obviously, the two uniformed officers knew that, and it looked like they had their own history, judging by the black mass sitting in between them. Not that they’d let on to either Ryan or Connor, but I could see it.

  The officers were keeping secrets, and Ryan didn’t want to tell them he’d beaten the crap out of Jake and Brenton, or that one of them had poisoned Christie. How would he explain his knowledge of such a crisis? A thirst for revenge? That a psychic had helped identify the bad guy? Did Ryan know that Connor was a sentinel? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t be sure. My mouth went dry. The urge to run from the room surged within me, and I pushed it back down. I wanted to run, run as fast as I could to the safety and sanctity of my home. I pressed my hands deeper into the arms of the chair.

  What had I done? Maybe if I’d kept my visits from Isabella to myself, none of us would be here in this room, at this time. For the same reason, if I had kept quiet, maybe Christie would no longer be with us. Regardless, I’d charged ahead like a bull at a gate, reckless, impulsive. Concepts of integrity and honor, so vital days ago, seemed silly, self-indulgent in the face of such a heavily charged atmosphere. My spontaneous behavior could lead to me being outed in a cringe-worthy episode involving four police, in a so far serious interview. One where more remained unspoken than said directly.

  Oh god.

  “The perpetrators are known to you?” asked Constable Jones, writing in his notepad.

  He seemed unduly formal considering the black mass I’d detected earlier , but he probably did so due to the presence of a civilian, not wanting to let on that they’d both been tempted to take matters into their own hands at times,—not that I’d been introduced, or planned to be for that matter.