Fire In The Mind: Leonard Wise Book 1

by Arjay Lewis

  I smiled. “Gods don’t have sex the regular way.”

  “What?” Jenny asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Go on, Bill.”

  “The problem for Denise was that she fell in love with Wendy. Wendy thought it had been good for a few laughs, but she didn’t want Denise to become a permanent fixture. So she dropped both Denise and Gingold—decided that it should be just business.”

  “Which made Denise and Jack fast friends. Both of them were jilted,” I said.

  “Exactly. So, when Mishan buys the farm, Denise moves in to start helping Jack, taking Mishan’s place. But when Wendy bites the dust, Denise gets scared. She just wanted to get the money and go. But she was already in too deep, and when Jack called her to grab Mrs. Baines, she figured it was time for her to leave town.”

  “You can call me Jenny, Detective.”

  “OK, so they get Jenny, and at this point, her story matches what you told me one hundred percent, Len.”

  “What story is this?” Jon asked.

  “I’ll explain when I take you out to dinner,” I said.

  “No way, I’m buying the celebration dinner,” Jon insisted.

  “Gentlemen, please let me finish and then you can fight over the check all you want,” McGee said. “So, she decides once they drop Jenny off, she’s gone.”

  “But Gingold surprised her and stuck her in a box,” I said.

  “With her red minivan in the building’s garage.”

  “One more fire and he would’ve been home free, every possible witness gone,” I said, as I shook my head.

  “That’s what we figured he’d planned,” McGee said as he stirred his coffee. “Galland was able to pull juicy stuff from Hallman’s computer, and guess what? The guy isn’t so dumb. He started singing like a bird, deciding that he would much rather cooperate with the police.”

  “Trying to get a deal for when his part of the conspiracy goes before a grand jury?” I said.

  “Yup!” McGee replied. “Looks like we’re going to have this case wrapped up in one neat bundle. And I have you to thank, Len.” He stood, picking up the newspaper-wrapped bundle. “Oh, and I have a present for you.”

  He handed me the bundle, and I tore the papers away. Within its folds, discolored from soot on one end and by what looked like burned blood on the other, was my cobra headed sword.

  “I found that at the crime scene, but I think it got lost on its way to the station. I think you can still use it if you clean it up,” McGee said, shrugging. “Of course, I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Thanks, Bill. This was a real life saver,” I said.

  “Amen,” Jenny added.

  “What did you tell the lieutenant about the COD?” I asked.

  “Cause of death was that he impaled himself on one of his fancy sculptures,” McGee explained. “My reports suggest that he inhaled too much smoke and fell. Doctor Latrell has found the blades of—whatever the hell hit his vital organs. Of course, the scene has a lot of fire damage.”

  “So my involvement can be kept to a minimum?” I questioned.

  “If that’s what you want,” McGee answered. “You’ll still have to explain your presence in the aerie and the actions you took. But I think your sword should be our secret.”

  “I would prefer it that way.”

  “So, where to now, Len?” McGee asked as he took a swig of coffee. “I mean, I know you’re planning to go back to California and all, but I personally would love to have you here. We work well together.”

  “I really don’t have any other prospects,” I stated.

  “Hold on, Len!” Jon said as he rose and stepped to the center of the kitchen. “That’s what I was trying to tell you! You do have other prospects.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “Trisha Heywood, my assistant, you talked to her the other day about where you studied with Doctor Kohl. You told her his program was the only one like it in the country, remember?”

  “Yes, so what?” I said.

  “She did a little checking and found out you were right. There is a veritable gold mine in the study of parapsychology and the science of the mind.”

  “Jon, sweetie, get to the point,” Jenny requested with a smile.

  “The point is that Dean Walters loved the idea after Trisha and I told him about it. He wants to start a parapsychology department at Garden State University. And I have been authorized to offer you the position of associate professor and head of this new department.”

  “Me?” I said, my mouth hanging open.

  “Of course you, who better? Look, you’ve got the summer to plan the courses, and we still have time to offer them in the fall! We’ll start small, but within one or two years, we can build it into something huge.”

  “Congratulations, professor!” McGee said, slapping me on the back.

  “What do you say, Len?” Jon asked, his arm around Jenny, who was beaming.

  “I-I accept,” I stammered. “But I can’t stay here—in your house.”

  “Ah, yes, did I mention the perks?” Jon pointed out. “It seems there is an apartment on campus that is currently empty. When I told Dean Walters of the concept, I also sold him on the idea that you MUST have that apartment or it was no deal. You can move in next week.”

  I looked from face to face, as all of them stared excitedly at me.

  “I guess…it’s all settled then!”

  Everyone around the table gave a quick round of applause, and I took a small bow.

  “First time your psychic abilities didn’t warn you, huh, Len?” Bill said.

  “I’m completely surprised,” I replied.

  “I’m glad you’re staying,” Bill said, shaking my hand. “With you around, I’ll make lieutenant in no time.”

  . . .

  Jon, Jenny, and I went out to dinner that night. We dressed up, went to a nice restaurant, where they had wine, and I had seltzer. I even let Jon pick up the check.

  I felt good that night and didn’t even crave a drink. I had a purpose and had been pulled into what I knew I was supposed to do. Create a new department and, at the same time, work with the police to help solve cases. Whatever my abilities were or are, I could use them to help people—really help.

  That night was an epiphany of sorts for me. I was finally able to let go of some of the things that had driven me from New Jersey. I also could see how everything that happened to bring me back was for a reason.

  Everything happened on purpose.

  There was, indeed, a fire in my mind. It’s different from the one Gingold possessed—or that took possession of him. He only craved more—to be fed more bodies and money and broken lives. Mine is a cooler fire, one tempered with compassion, intelligence, and I hope even love. It does not consume me.

  But it burns bright, indeed.

  THE END

  prologue

  Harold Stoller stood in the library of his upscale home in Upper Mountainview, New Jersey, and tried to pour himself a drink. It was difficult because his hands shook so much.

  The ice clinked as it tumbled from the ice bucket into the cut crystal glass, and sloshed the fifty-year-old scotch in as best he could. Some of the amber liquid spilled onto the top of the small table where the tray, decanter, and ice bucket were kept.

  Using both hands to raise the glass to his lips, he sipped the liquid into his mouth. It burned as it went down his throat, but he could feel it relax him.

  The room was mostly filled with exquisite wood paneling and shelf after shelf of fine books: collector’s items, first editions, and rare finds he had amassed over the years.

  There was one mirror on the wall, with an ornate and hand-made frame, which was meticulously gilded with gold leaf.

  The man who looked back from the reflection frightened him. Gaunt, with
bags under his eyes. But worse, his eyes looked haunted.

  He’d been a heavy man before. In fact, carried too much weight, which is what made his doctor insist he lose some of his girth.

  Before her.

  At first, the weight loss pleased him, and he felt better. But as the months wore on, he grew tired, more restless, and began to fear going to bed.

  Because of the dreams.

  The wonderful— horrible dreams.

  She would come to him in the night and they would do unspeakable acts, things he’d never even thought of doing with any other woman.

  If she was a woman. Or was she a monster?

  His mobile phone vibrated in his pocket, and it made him jump. It was from his therapist, the one person who actually helped him. He glanced at the message on the screen:

  Do you need me?

  He wanted to text her back, tell her something, but then he heard the music.

  A woman’s voice, a cappella and full-throated. It was rhythmic, an eerie tune, filled with all the excitement of sex and with an ululation that sounded like her climax.

  He froze for a moment, put the drink down, and pinched himself. He was awake, and he could hear her!

  He stared at his mirror image, the fear so clear in his eyes.

  He ran to the library door, and turned the lock which sealed it. Though it appeared to be a plain wooden door, it was reinforced with unseen steel bars, which strengthened it far beyond what one would expect.

  He went from window to window and made sure each one of them was closed and locked. As the room was so high off the ground, they were not reinforced but they fit snugly into their sills. But still, he heard her song and though faint it grew louder, as if she approached.

  He went to the pair of glass double doors that led onto the balcony to assure himself they also were secured.

  The song grew more powerful, he could feel the music, as if it caressed his very flesh.

  He looked up, and stood frozen in place. Outside the glass doors on the balcony she stood in all her glory. A slight glow illuminated her amazing body. She wore an odd garment, that appeared to be only a cloth wrapped about her. But the cloth was almost transparent, and showed off her pert breasts, the curve of her thighs, and the hidden valley of her sex.

  He made a sound, a cross between a moan and cry of fear. It was her, just as she came to him in his sleep. But now he was awake and observed her in the flesh. Or was she merely a projection of his mind?

  “I’ve gone mad,” he said as he licked his lips.

  He could see her mouth move as the song began a new chorus. Her throat vibrated and her chest heaved as she drew in air. She gestured for him to come outside, to join her.

  He opened the doors and the song grew to full volume. He tentatively stepped onto the dark balcony, unsure of what would happen.

  “Ella?” he said.

  She nodded in affirmative, her smile grew broader and her arms opened to welcome him.

  He shook his head, and told himself, “She can’t actually be here, it’s impossible.”

  Her body was incredible to gaze at, her smile was so inviting and the song on her lips intoxicated him.

  He approached, but she remained in one place. He noted that she appeared to hover a few inches above the balcony— or was that an illusion of the unlit terrace under the cloudy sky that no stars could peek through?

  Still unsure, he put out his hand, as he carefully approached her. The song grew more sweet, the ululation in her throat coaxed him closer.

  His hand touched her shoulder. He gasped.

  “She is here, she’s actually real!” his mind screamed.

  He gently moved his hand to her breast, and she threw her head back with a sigh of pleasure.

  “My—my God,” he said, as all the memories of their intense sensual encounters flooded his mind.

  With a smile she shifted out of his grasp.

  “Ella, you’re real!” Harold shouted, his tiredness forgotten. He was fully aroused, and wanted to make love to her in this solid form, unlike the wisps of dreams that had plagued his nights.

  He moved towards her, to take her in his arms, but she evaded his grasp easily.

  “Don’t toy with me, Ella, my darling, my love,” he said. He knew he would beg, he would plead, just to be one with her flesh, her so very solid flesh.

  He reached towards her again, and with a bell-like laugh she slid aside.

  He was so excited. He had to have her, to feel those incredible legs wrapped around him, to hear her whisper words of love in his ear as she did in the dreams.

  He lunged at her, as she laughed.

  He went through her shape as if she was nothing but mist, and continued over the edge of the balcony.

  The scream escaped his lungs as he fell the three stories to the ground and landed on his back on the solid stone patio.

  The pain was immense. He felt he may have broken his back or his ribs. There was an intense pain in his chest, and he could taste blood as it oozed out of his mouth.

  He watched her as she glided down, as lightly as a butterfly, and looked down at him with pity. She bent and gave him a kiss so gentle it felt like a breeze.

  As the light faded in his eyes, black bat wings grew from her back, and with the cry of a bird of prey, she took to the sky.

  It was the last thing Harold ever saw.

  one

  I leaned on my cane. “And so, I hope the assignment is clear and that there are no questions.”

  I stood in front of my class: the young people were a good group, a nice mix of the student body of Garden State University. They ranged in age from eighteen or nineteen to some in their late thirties.

  This class, Parapsychology 101, was my final seminar of the week and I was dog-tired. I’d spent every night with the police working to help solve a kidnap and ransom case.

  Though it was touch and go for a while, Detective-Sergeant McGee and I— along with the Mountainview Police Department and an exemplary new officer named Tom Harrigan— not only succeeded in a rescue of the eight-year-old son of a renown businessman, we were able to recover all of the ransom money, and discover that the entire plan was the brainchild of a no-account cousin of the housekeeper, who abetted the crime. She broke down and confessed to the whole scheme.

  I looked forward to the weekend to rest and recharge, my final task was to get this assignment out to my students.

  I hobbled over to the blackboard, shifted my weight to my good leg and pointed with my cane at the words inscribed in bold letters:

  DANIEL D. HOME

  “You are to write and give full biography of Mr. Home,” I said. “Some called him the greatest medium of his time. However, no less than Harry Houdini called him a charlatan and a fraud. Give me both sides of the argument, and then clearly articulate your personal conclusions. I do not care which side you come down on, but I want it clear, reasoned, and well explained.”

  I lowered my cane and faced the class. “Also, I should warn you I wrote a paper on this gentlemen, and if you try to copy a paper from the internet, it will probably be mine.”

  This caused a titter of laughter through the room.

  “If I find you are turning in my paper, I must warn you, I will fail you. I know all of my own arguments, and I find them tedious.”

  This caused another round of broken laughter.

  “Due in a week, please make it at least ten pages, double-space and footnote all your sources. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen!”

  The class rose as one person, and ambled their way for the door. It amused me that each one of them immediately took out their smart phones and became lost in the tiny screens.

  I shook my head. “Glad I can put mine down every now and then,” I muttered to myself, just as the pert Aubrey Andrews approached.

 
I sighed. “Yes, Miss Andrews?”

  The cheerful blonde wore jeans, ripped in the most fashionable places— mostly the knees, shoes that lifted her enough to make me concerned she might fall forward, and a frilly top that plunged to show off her ample bosom, which due to the angle of her shoes appeared to lunge forward at me.

  She was not a bad student— bright if she applied herself. However, she’d taken it on herself to spend time to try and engage me in conversation.

  “I thought your insights into the history of the Spiritualist movement were very informative, Doctor,” she said.

  I almost expected her to pull out pompoms and yell, “RAH.”

  “Thank you, Miss Andrews. I think it is important to point out the flaws as well as the myths of these people. I believe there were many good-hearted members of the movement, but far too many of them were con artists.”

  “I still haven’t found the entire syllabus for the semester on-line, yet, Doctor.”

  I sighed heavily. “That is because I haven’t completed it. I promise it will be up by next week. I had other— projects.”

  She drew close, pressed into my personal space. “The kidnapping?”

  I met her eyes, surprised.

  “It’s been in all the papers. I figured you were lending a hand,” she added.

  “Miss Andrews,” I said, impressed that she had quickly reasoned out the situation. “I am not at liberty to discuss anything that might involve the Mountainview Police Department.”

  “Of course not, Doctor,” she said, with a gleam in her eyes. “I just was so impressed they solved it so quickly.”

  “We can all be thankful for the fine work of our local law enforcement,” I said. “Now I’m really tired—“

  “Doctor, I noticed that you posted on the university website for a Teaching Assistant.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Are you interested in being a TA?”

  “Well, not for just anyone,” she said, and glanced down shyly.

  I pondered it for a moment. “I was looking for at least a junior or senior—“