Epiphany (Legacy of Payne)

by Christina Jean Michaels

  Contents

  Copyright

  Summary

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1. The Other Side of Sanity

  2. Pinch Me . . . I Must Be Dreaming

  3. Goodbye Apathy

  4. Precipice

  5. Anger's Alibi

  6. Irate

  7. Forty-Eight Hours

  8. Stop Rattling My Closet

  9. Darkness Falls

  10. Secrets

  11. Sweet Whiskey

  12. Moonlighter

  13. Hook and Bait

  14. Temperature Rising

  15. Crash and Burn

  16. Lunar Visions

  17. Legacy of Payne

  18. Blackout

  19. Free Fall

  20. If Stubborn Were a Pastime

  21. High Tide

  22. Uninvited

  23. Clandestine Disclosure

  24. Fate's Faux Pas

  25. Two for the Road

  26. Then Everything Went Black

  27. Being Conscious is Overrated

  28. Aftermath

  29. Family Hour

  30. Confessions

  31. Options

  32. Ambush

  33. Sins of the Father

  34. Intentions

  Note From the Author

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  EPIPHANY

  Copyright 2013 Christina Jean Michaels

  Edited by Jessica Nollkamper

  Cover design by Christina Jean Michaels

  Cover image used under license from www.shutterstock.com

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Summary

  “I had my first psychic dream when I was nine. Psychic implied power, and powerful wasn’t a word I’d use to describe myself. I couldn’t foretell the future or conjure visions at will, but I couldn’t think of a more fitting word to describe what I sometimes saw in my dreams.”

  For 23-year-old Mackenzie Hill, tossing her life down the garbage disposal is easy after a painful incident shatters her life. Her heart is bleeding, and moving to Watcher’s Point is a chance to start anew, only she isn’t prepared for the guy who walks out of her dreams and into the flesh. Literally . . . because she’s been dreaming about this sexy stranger for years.

  Mackenzie is even less prepared to face the dark nature of her dreams. They’ve turned disturbingly gruesome, full of blood and murder, and when they begin to coincide with the media’s headlines, she and Aidan realize her visions might be the key to stopping a madman from killing again.

  Only Aidan has painful secrets of his own, and perhaps the biggest danger of all is falling for him.

  To my mom. Thanks for always being there.

  Prologue

  I awoke in murky stages, the first being a nauseating sense of movement. The second was the realization that something was wrong. Horribly wrong. The third was the clearest and the most horrifying—my wrists were tied together as were my ankles.

  A low groan vibrated in my throat as I pulled at the bindings. Despite the persistent throb at my temples, I focused on the misty recollections; the wafting fog on the highway, the beam of a flashlight, and the splintering sound of glass.

  I forced my eyes open and met total blackness. My cheek rested against the floor of what I assumed was a van, and a putrid smell burned my nose—an odorous mixture of mildew and bleach. I held my breath as the vehicle bounced over uneven ground, and my ribs hit the floor hard with each lurch.

  Where the heck am I?

  My heart beat out of control as I tried to remember, but I drew a blank. I couldn’t recall anything beyond a blinding light and an explosion of pain in my head . . . then nothing.

  “Don’t panic,” I chanted in a whisper as I tested the rope. Come on! I slid my wrists back and forth, and the knot loosened the slightest bit as the van came to a violent stop. The engine shut off, and I didn’t dare move or make a peep. A door creaked open and then slammed with an echo. I ceased to breathe as his footfalls drew closer, crunching on gravel with each step. I counted them.

  One, two, three, four, five . . .

  Keys jingled from the other side, and the handle squeaked and turned. The van dipped under his weight as he entered. I wished I could see him, but I was lying on my stomach, completely vulnerable.

  “Where am I?” It wasn’t the question I wanted to ask—the one I could barely think of.

  What are you going to do to me?

  My body went rigid as he came near. He rolled me to my back with rough hands, and his silhouette loomed large, a dark shadow blocking the light of the waning moon. He shifted, causing the moon’s beam to glint off the cigarette lighter in his hand.

  “No . . .” My plea came out a squeak, an ineffectual cry for mercy. I was only an object to him, something to torture and kill for his perverse pleasure.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and yanked at the rope, ignoring the pain biting into my wrists. Hysteria wouldn’t help my situation, so I held it in. In fact, from what I knew of the Hangman, my cries and pleas would only heighten his pleasure . . . his arousal. Vomit burned in my throat, accompanying the rancid taste of fear, but I forced my eyes open anyway.

  He sparked the lighter to life, and the flame illuminated his face. His eyes peered at me, two expressionless voids holding no remorse for what he’d done to all of those other women.

  For what he was about to do to me.

  His expression was so empty—distorted into something unrecognizable—that it took me a few seconds to realize who towered over me. I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing.

  “Why?” My voice broke on the question, but he didn’t answer. A tear slid down my cheek as acceptance nicked at my composure. I wasn’t getting out of this. Aidan would find my body—I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. The bastard would dangle my death in front of him like a trophy. A muffled sob escaped. Not panicking was impossible.

  For all the times I’d witnessed the murders of other women in my dreams, I’d failed to see my own.

  1. The Other Side of Sanity

  One month earlier

  The Watcher’s Point gossip mill welcomed me by exposing my mom’s secret. I bet if she’d known about my "special ability" she wouldn’t have kept the truth hidden all these years. Kind of hard to keep a secret when your daughter dreams of unexplainable things.

  Like how I’d known the sun’s rays painted the hillside in copper tones at sunset, or how violent the ocean became during a storm, crashing over jagged rocks and sending bursts of seawater onto the highway. I’d seen the town many times in my dreams—had walked the streets and tasted the salt in the air—but my mom hadn’t known about my virtual visits to her hometown. The place where I’d been conceived, or so I’d recently learned.

  That was the thing about secrets—they have a way of unraveling, even after twenty-three years.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  I blinked and looked at Six, the only friend I’d made since moving. “Doing what?”

  “Dwelling.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “No depression allowed.” She wagged a finger at me. “Besides, you’ll forget all about this chaos with your mom when you see what I’ve got.” She pulled a dress from her closet, which was so overstuffed it practically spit the garment into her hands. She held it up, triumphant.

  “You’re nuts if you think I’m wearing that. Nuts enough to call Cahoots.” I fol
ded my arms and bit back a smile.

  “What the heck is Cahoots?”

  “A program for crazy people.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny.” She threw the scrap of fabric at me. “Put it on, Mac.”

  I hated the nickname almost as much as skimpy dresses. “Uh-uh. No way.”

  “These too.” A pair of strappy heels landed at my feet, and Six set a hand on her curvy hip. “By the time I’m done, you’ll be hell on heels. Sexy hell on heels.”

  I didn’t want to be sexy hell on anything—especially in those torturous pair of shoes. “I don’t do sexy,” I said, draping the dress across her bed.

  “Are you kidding? That outfit will do wonders for those legs.”

  “What legs?” I glanced down at my freshly painted toenails—she wasn’t kidding about the makeover. “I’m five-four, not exactly leggy, if you know what I mean.”

  “Hence, the dress and heels, silly.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me into her closet-sized bathroom. “Chill out and let me work my magic.” One sharp look silenced my grumbling. Why had I agreed to let her drag me out? And to a dance club of all places?

  Oh, yeah . . . to meet people.

  I collapsed onto the lid of the toilet and gave up the fight. It was only one night. Besides, maybe Six was right. I’d end up in a mental ward if I didn’t lighten up. So what if the upheaval of my life nipped at my feet like a Pomeranian?

  What a freaking understatement.

  I didn’t belong here. I should be back home, getting lost in my drawings and on the cusp of finishing college. But here I was—on my own in a new town, making new friends, and pretending my heart was still in one piece.

  “It’s time you learned the meaning of the word fun,” Six said as she pulled out a tray of colorful palettes and brushes. I found it ironic that her cosmetic kit resembled my art supplies at home—the only sign the apartment next door was mine. I hadn’t been there long enough to leave a personal imprint; no pictures or even decorative touches—just my drawings and the related paraphernalia scattered throughout the space.

  I stifled a sigh as she put her skills to work, transforming my face into God knows what. Fun . . . I could do fun. “You’re not gonna make me look like a Geisha, are you?”

  She burst out laughing. “Don’t tempt me. You wanna talk about insanity? Missing masquerade night at High Times is unheard of.” She snapped open an eye shadow compact. “Tonight’s our night to get drunk. Lord knows we’re gonna serve plenty of wasted dumbasses on Halloween.”

  Working on Halloween didn’t bother me, though I didn’t bother telling her that.

  “Close your eyes,” she said.

  I complied, and the soft bristles of her makeup brush feathered across my lids. Instantly, a mahogany gaze flashed in my mind. Familiar eyes set in a face so gorgeous, I was certain better eye candy didn’t exist. My mystery man had haunted my nights for years—in dreams that weren’t always just dreams.

  “Are you done yet?” I mumbled.

  “Don’t move!”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Mackenzie, you’re impossible.”

  I held back a smile and let her finish her “art.” With face goo done, she went to work on my hair, wielding a secret female weapon: the curling iron. “You’ve got ten minutes, then I’m outta here,” I warned.

  “Not a problem.” Apparently, having short hair had its advantages. She finished in five and stepped back. “Dress time.”

  I groaned. “Can’t I just wear jeans?”

  “Nope.”

  A few minutes later I stumbled—three-inch heels and all—to the mirror on her bathroom door. “I look like a hoochie momma!”

  “That’s the idea.” She twirled a red curl around her finger and grinned at me.

  The classic “little black dress” emphasized places I’d prefer to leave alone, though I had to give her props for the gunk on my face—my slate gray eyes hadn’t looked so smoky since prom. “I thought masquerades were supposed to be classy.” I yanked the hem down and cursed under my breath for letting her talk me into a dress. “I mean, what kind of bar puts on a masquerade party?”

  “You’ve obviously never been to High Times.” Of course, her brand of coercion wouldn’t be complete without a sparkly masquerade mask; she held it out to me, a challenge in her eyes. “Now quit stalling and put this on. The night’s not getting any younger.”

  An hour later, I wondered if the night would ever end. Six started right in on her Mac-needs-to-meet-people campaign. She must have introduced me to a dozen men: freakishly tall guys, chubby short guys, full-bearded tattooed guys, hunky gym guys, and even geeky tech guys. It was a smorgasbord of guys, and I was positive I wouldn’t remember a single name. Masquerade night, I scoffed. More like operation let’s-get-Mac-laid night.

  Techno music blared from every speaker, and like most popular bars, breathing room was a luxury. A kaleidoscope of masked faces whirled around me as I inched through the sea of bodies, amazed at what some people called dancing.

  Six was nowhere to be found. I hadn’t seen her since she’d dragged a tattooed guy onto the dance floor fifteen minutes ago, already drunk on some blue concoction. Sweat and alcohol wafted in the air, a reminder of another night—one I’d spent the last few months trying to forget. I balled my hands as the room blurred.

  Coming here was a bad idea.

  “Watch out!” someone yelled after I’d stepped on a foot.

  Sweat trickled down my hairline, and I blinked rapidly as the walls imploded on me. Spotting the women’s restroom a few feet away, I mustered an apology and hurried inside. The room was blessedly empty. I tore off my mask and stared into the dingy mirror, breath coming in shallow gasps as I willed my pulse to slow down. It still hadn’t returned to normal when the door squeaked open behind me.

  “Hey!” a woman shouted as she stumbled in with a crash. “You fucked up my shoe. Sorry ain’t gonna cut it.”

  I froze, recognizing Christie’s reflection despite the mask she hid behind. Out of all the toes I could have crushed, they would have to be hers.

  Christie’s dark eyes widened. “Why haven’t you slithered back to your hole yet?”

  I straightened my spine and turned to confront her glare. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

  She smirked. “You don’t belong here. Everyone knows it.” Her gaze traveled to my toes and back up again. “Dressing like me. Trying to be me.” She tsked-tsked. “So pathetic.”

  “This isn’t about you.” I paused, trying to think of a way to make her understand. “I had no idea when I came here. I didn’t know.”

  Christie’s face twisted, and her fingers bunched into fists. “He wasn’t your father!”

  “According to the whole damn town he was.” I clamped my mouth shut and went to move past her. Last thing I needed was another argument with Christie Beckmeyer. Who would’ve thought I’d discover a sister just to have her hate me?

  She blocked my exit at the last second. “Your mom’s a slut. My dad wasn’t the only guy she screwed.”

  “Get out of my way,” I said through clenched teeth, “unless one ruined shoe isn’t enough for you.” Just because I wasn’t speaking to my mom didn’t mean I’d let anyone else badmouth her. Christie must have seen something dangerous in my eyes because she stepped to the side and let me pass. I resisted the urge to throw something as I shoved through the crowd.

  “There you are!” Six materialized in front of me, and something blue sloshed over the rim of her cup. “Why’d you take off your mask?” She shoved her drink into my hands before refastening the mask over my eyes. “Makes you mysterious. Now, bottoms up. You don’t look like you’re havin’ fun.”

  “Six, I’m not really in the mood—”

  “Oh, noooo you don’t. You need a drink. Loosen up already.” She bounced away and gestured for me to follow. “C’mon! There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  My eyes wandered to the bathroom entrance, where Christie stood drilling me
with her glacial stare. Wonderful. I gulped down the alcohol and hurried after Six. “Who? Haven’t I met enough people tonight?”

  “Darn, he disappeared,” she said as she coaxed me into the center of twisting bodies. “But let me tell you, this guy is hot. And he’s a newbie in town like you. Fresh meat.”

  We began dancing, or more accurately, Six danced. I two-stepped with the finesse of a Ping-Pong ball. “I’m not interested in dating,” I hollered above the music.

  “I never said a word about dating.” She tossed me a glow-in-the-dark bracelet. Several people wore them—there were neon bursts of color bouncing all over the place. “You know what you need?”

  I was afraid to ask. “What?”

  “A hot and sweaty romp in the sack. No strings, no expectations . . .” She paused long enough to wiggle her eyebrows. “Just a little wrestling between the sheets. It’s good exercise.”

  I needed that about as much as a tax audit, but I laughed despite myself. “You’re horrible!” The alcohol infiltrated my bloodstream with amazing speed. I couldn’t say how long we danced. Three songs? Four? Ten? By the time she pulled me to a less crowded corner of the bar, I’d gulped down another drink and my ability to walk straight worsened by ten degrees.

  “What was in that stuff?” I asked her.

  “What stuff?”

  “The blue crap you gave me!”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she stated with a laugh. “There’s a reason they named it Adiós Motherfuck—”

  “Okay,” I interrupted, “I get the idea.” The ceiling suddenly whirled in a nauseating spin. “Oh, shit. Be right back.” I covered my mouth and pushed through the crowd, making a beeline for the restroom. In my haste to escape inside, I tripped over a boot. Two strong arms reached out and grabbed me. And how did I thank my rescuer?

  I barfed down the front of his brown leather jacket.

  “Oh God, I am so sorry!” I raised my eyes, initially surprised he wasn’t wearing a mask like everyone else, and then I gaped at him. His familiar mahogany eyes stared back, and the Earth halted, crashed into Jupiter for all I knew. In that moment nothing else existed.