Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle)

by Wheaton, Kimber Leigh

  All eyes turn to me, and I can’t help but squirm under their stares. This is a difficult subject for me. I always felt responsible for my mother leaving. My powers annoyed and scared her. She hated them and by association hated me. Tears blur my vision, threatening to spill over my eyelashes. Logan places his hand on my arm.

  “It’s okay, Kacie,” Logan says, running his hand up and down my forearm. It has the desired effect and I relax under the soothing contact. “You can trust us, I promise. You’ll feel better if you tell us what happened. Believe me, the people at this table will not only listen but understand.”

  I watch entranced as his fingers run a light caress up and down my arm. After a few deep breaths, I glance up at him, expecting to see the scorn and disbelief I always saw on my parents’ faces. Logan gazes back, his brow creased in worry—but not about me embarrassing him with what I might say. No, he’s worried about me, about my feelings. With a gentle tug he pulls my arm down over the armrest, lacing our fingers together under the table. I look at our clasped hands then back up at his face. He gives a little nod, urging me to tell my story.

  “When I was young, I didn’t know I was different. My parents assumed the people I talked to were imaginary friends. They were busy—no they were oblivious really. I’m sure if they’d paid attention, they would’ve noticed how strange the conversations were.”

  I pause when my throat closes up, overcome by the guilt and the heaviness in my chest. Had I known I’d be sitting here telling strangers my darkest secrets, I doubt I would’ve agreed to come to this meeting. Taking a deep breath I continue, clinging to the hope that telling my story will help ease the pain.

  “When I was nine my parents decided I was too old for imaginary friends. They sat me down and ordered that I stop talking to people who weren’t there. I tried to explain that the people were real, but my father was furious. He thought I was lying. I started ignoring the spirits. By this time I knew they were ghosts, and I was starting to realize most if not all people didn’t see them.”

  The blonde lady seated next to Mr. Kincaid rises and strides over to the small kitchenette. When she returns, she places a bottle of water on the table in front of me.

  “Thank you.” I crack open the bottle and take a long drink of the cool liquid, allowing it to soothe both my nerves and my dry throat.

  “Take your time, Kacie,” the blonde lady says when she returns to her seat, “I’m Anna Kincaid, and I really do understand what you’ve been through.” She gazes at me through soft blue eyes full of understanding. If only my mother had been so open and eager to listen.

  “I continued to ignore the spirits for several months, but they were making it increasingly difficult. It seemed the more I ignored them, the more they craved my attention. We were at the park one day and a particularly pesky spirit wouldn’t leave me alone. I finally gave in and started talking to him to the utter mortification of my parents. I was grounded for two weeks.” I pause again, taking a sip of the water as I try to prepare myself to tell the rest of the story. “A week later I was alone at the kitchen table when the spirit of a woman appeared in the chair across from me. She was an older woman with such a comforting presence. She told me not to worry, that everything would be okay. For some reason I believed her. But she was wrong, very wrong.”

  My breath catches. Painful pressure spreads across my chest. A burning sensation in my nose lets me know tears aren’t far behind. The girl seated next to me places her hand on my arm.

  “I don’t have any abilities,” she says in a soft voice. “I can only imagine what you’ve been through. But I will say it’s not fair the way some people treat mediums. People are so willing to accept a God they can’t see who can work miracles, but tell them ghosts exist and the shit hits the fan.”

  Quiet chuckles and a few snickers draw my gaze to the group. For years I prayed to find someone who understood. Now I have a room full of them. I can do this.

  “My mother walked in while I was talking to the spirit. Her eyes grew wide, and it seemed like she could see the spirit too. I felt so betrayed. She yelled at me for lying along with my father. If she could see ghosts then how could she not stand up for me, help my father see that I wasn’t lying, help me understand why I could see them when others couldn’t? How could she not be there for me when I needed her so badly? I asked her if she could see the ghost…”

  Closing my eyes, I swallow around the lump in my throat. Something cool touches my hand. When I open my eyes, I see the girl next to me pushing the water bottle into my palm. I drain the remaining contents of the bottle before I’m able to continue.

  “My mother backed out of the room and fled upstairs without answering. She packed her bags and left that night, filing for divorce a few weeks later. I haven’t seen her since. She calls once in a while but only talks to my brother. It’s as if I ceased to exist in her mind at all.”

  I pause again, blinking my eyes in a failed attempt to keep the tears at bay. Several tears trickle down my cheeks. The room is silent, everyone waiting for me to finish my story, though I have a feeling they already know the outcome.

  “Dad blamed me for the divorce. My mother filed for joint custody of my brother, Gavin, but didn’t even want visitation rights with me. One night when Gavin was away, Dad got drunk and finally told me how much he hated me for ruining his marriage. He apologized for weeks afterward, said he didn’t really mean it. But I know somewhere deep down he really did. He did mean it.”

  More tears fall and I’m unable to continue the story. Logan squeezes my hand, trying to offer comfort. When I look into his eyes, they contain such sorrow and a flicker of anger. Just knowing he was affected in such a way by my story fills me with warmth. It feels so good to have someone listen and not judge, not immediately call for a straightjacket.

  “Your wall is crumbling, Kacie,” Michelle says, her voice ringing in the quiet room. “We can teach you how to control your abilities so they don’t overwhelm you. You need to learn control before the dam bursts.”

  “Is that acceptable, Kacie?” Mr. Kincaid asks, “Will you allow us to help you with your abilities?”

  “I’m sick and tired of running and hiding from my abilities,” I say, somehow finding a well of courage within my heart. “I’d like to learn how to live with this, maybe even find a way to help people with it.”

  “All those in favor of initiating Kacie into the Orion Circle?” Mrs. Kincaid asks the group. ‘Ayes’ resound around the table. “Opposed?” Her question is met with silence. “Welcome to the group, Kacie,” she says with a brilliant smile. “We’ll continue the meeting now and introduce you to everyone later. Rebecca, I believe it’s your turn.”

  The brunette girl beside me shuffles through her notes, separating several from the pile and passing them to Mrs. Kincaid. Her brown hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. She pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose before speaking.

  “Carl and I performed an investigation last weekend at the new bed and breakfast in the Queen Anne District. The owners were ecstatic to have us visit. They’re currently hyping their inn as one of the most haunted in Texas. We set up the equipment, did EVP sessions in every room and did client interviews. After careful review of the video and EVPs we have absolutely nothing, zip, nada.”

  She rises from her chair, placing her palms on the table. A bundle of nervous energy, she makes my pulse leap. After slapping the table she stalks over to the sitting area and grabs a leather messenger bag. The contents spill onto the table, papers flying everywhere.

  “The owners had an amazing amount of stories for such a brief ownership of the place. My research indicated they bought the place two years ago and took over a year to renovate. So they’ve only had guests for a few months. These were all written by Mrs. Anders. I haven’t read more than a few. There’s enough here for a series of novels, and they read like a script for a paranormal movie. They refused to provide any past guest info, stating privac
y as the excuse. Our take is that it’s a complete sham. Not haunted in any way, shape or form. Before submitting the final report to HQ I’d like a medium to do a walkthrough.”

  “This is a good opportunity for you, Kacie,” Mrs. Kincaid says. “Logan, I’d like you to take this assignment along with Kacie. Call and make the arrangements with the owners for one night this weekend. Full written report by next Monday—don’t slough the report off on Kacie. Though I think my concern may be misplaced,” she adds with an innocent look on her face.

  “Daniel, your update on the chupacabra,” Mr. Kincaid prompts.

  I know Daniel, he’s in drama with me, though I had no idea he was into this kind of thing. Then the words sink in and I let out a small gasp. Chupacabra? Surely this must be a joke!

  “We investigate all manner of supernatural activity and encounters, Kacie. There is so much more out there than meets the eye,” Mr. Kincaid says.

  He must have noticed my utter disbelief. Daniel snorts before dropping his papers on the table.

  “Well, this one was a case of mistaken identity,” Daniel says, shrugging in what appears to be disappointment. He runs a hand through his short, messy black hair before continuing. “It turned out to be a cross between a pit bull and a coyote. Not sure how they managed that but the reports came back from Texas A&M this morning. DNA results show canis latrans and canis lupus, specifically the American Pit Bull Terrier. I will admit it was one ugly, mean-looking sucker though. Can’t blame the poor guy who shot it through the head for thinking it was some sort of monster. It was attacking his cattle—guy lost two calves to that beast.”

  “We’ve been invited to participate in a hunt for a possible rogue werewolf this weekend by the UT Austin chapter,” Mr. Kincaid says as he glances around the table. Werewolves too? “This will be a potentially dangerous assignment. Any volunteers?” Daniel’s hand flies up along with a girl I haven’t met yet. “Daniel and Yolanda see me after the meeting for your assignment details. Unless there is any other new business, we are finished for today.” He pauses waiting to see if there is any objection. “Alright then, meeting adjourned.”

  Everyone stands and begins talking among themselves leaving me feeling a bit uncomfortable. Logan jumps up and beckons for me to follow him.

  “Come on, Kacie,” he says, leading me across the room. “It’ll be more comfortable to relax in the sitting area by the library than to stay here. We’ll keep the introductions brief so you don’t feel overwhelmed.”

  Chapter Six

  New Friends

  The storm continues to rage outside as I follow Logan over to the large sitting area. So much for weather reports—they said a thirty percent chance of rain today. A quick glance outside shows a one hundred percent chance of flooding based on the deluge striking the windows.

  Setting my bag on the floor, I join Logan on one of the two brown leather sofas. My hand strokes the buttery soft leather, cool to the touch in the warm room. It’s a nervous gesture, I’m well aware of that but one I can get away with given the circumstances. As I try to calm my frayed nerves, Mrs. Kincaid walks over and settles into the chair adjacent to my seat on the sofa. She gazes at me for several seconds before giving me a serene smile.

  “I’m so sorry about what happened to you, Kacie,” she murmurs, sorrow reflected in the depths of her eyes.

  Calmness settles over me. I lean into the arm of the sofa, resting my head on my hand. Her voice is soothing, wrapping around me like a fluffy blanket. It makes me feel at ease.

  “I’m also a psychic medium with parents who didn’t understand my gifts. It can be very hard for some people to accept anything they can’t see with their own eyes. My adolescence was fraught with conflict, but I’m happy to say I have a good relationship with my parents now.”

  She leans forward in her chair before continuing. “I’m Anna Kincaid, married to Roger Kincaid who is a psychic null. He does, however, believe strongly in psychic ability, living proof that some people are able to make the leap of faith to accept what they themselves can’t experience. Of course he’s a physicist so I suppose his whole career revolves around particles one can’t see with the naked eye, if at all.” She pauses, glancing over at Mr. Kincaid with so much love in her eyes. “I’m the president of the Orion Circle, San Antonio chapter. We have hundreds of chapters across the United States, most are at universities but some are at high schools. We’re short on time today so I’ll spare you the history lesson. I want you to have a chance to meet everyone.”

  Giving me one last smile, she rises from the chair and walks away. Her spot is taken by Rebecca. I already like her due to her kindness during the meeting. The brunette girl stares at me for a moment before pushing her glasses back up her nose with her index finger. Now that she’s closer, I can see her eyes are an odd shade of green, almost yellow green, very striking.

  “I’m Rebecca, I’m a lead investigator and researcher for our chapter,” she says, extending her hand in greeting. Her grip is firm as we shake hands. “I have no psychic abilities just an insatiable thirst for knowledge of anything paranormal. I’m especially into cryptozoology and mythological creatures, several not quite as mythological as you might think.”

  As a child I always had a penchant for unicorns, dragons and mermaids. My pulse jumps a bit, and I take a breath to ask the first of dozens of questions.

  She laughs. “You look excited, perhaps we can get together next week, and I’ll fill you in on what you’ve been missing.”

  “Sounds great, Rebecca,” I reply, eager for the knowledge she possesses.

  Cryptozoology is fascinating. Searching for and maybe even discovering a new animal species no one has ever heard of would be amazing.

  She nods before vacating the chair for the next person. Daniel walks over and plops down into the chair before propping his feet up on the coffee table. His black bangs cover one eye while the other gray eye stares at me with undisguised interest. A smile lights his face, and I see what makes so many girls swoon in his presence. This guy owns the room. His jeans are covered in artfully placed holes—something I would have sworn was against our dress code. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that hugs his lithe torso.

  “No introductions necessary, huh, Cici,” he says with an expression somewhere between a smirk and a leer.

  I cringe a bit at the nickname. No matter what I say, he refuses to call me Kacie. Daniel plays Billy Crocker, the male lead, in our production of Anything Goes. He’s been calling me Cici since the first day of drama class my freshman year. The idiot spilled coffee all over my brand new shoes. His utter lack of concern made me furious, embarrassed, you name it. I remember exploding—yelling something like, Look what you did! See? See? I’ve been Cici ever since.

  Daniel has an ego the size of Alaska along with his very own set of groupies. He was an enigma I was determined to solve. Last year, I swore I’d get beneath his veneer. Didn’t happen. My crush on him faded pretty fast after that.

  “Had no idea you were clairvoyant. You always seemed so normal,” he adds with an amused snort. “I’m clairsentient.” When I stare at him with a blank look he decides to elaborate. “My psychic ability stems from touch. Objects or people, I can get readings from both. You’d be amazed at what gets soaked up into the walls of some places. It’d blow your mind. Remind me tomorrow morning and I’ll give you a reading.”

  He takes my hand and kisses the back before rising in a fluid motion. My guess is this gesture is meant to be endearing, but I find it rather annoying. I somehow manage to resist the urge to wipe the back of my hand on my jeans. As he walks away, I hazard a glance at Logan and notice he’s bristling from Daniel’s behavior. I offer him a smile and his entire face lights up in response. Hearing someone move to the chair next to me, I manage to pull my eyes away from Logan’s golden gaze to give the new arrival my undivided attention.

  The rest of the evening passes in a blur as I’m introduced to everyone in the group. When the
final introduction is over, I pull out my phone and stare in shock. Twenty-five text messages and six voicemail messages are waiting for my attention. It’s already six-thirty, guess I’m not cooking dinner tonight. It’s about time Dad and Gavin learned to fend for themselves.

  Ever since my mother left when I was nine, I’ve taken care of the house and cooking. It’s funny how Gavin and Dad both came to take my actions for granted. I won’t be around forever. Perhaps it’s time to wean the men from their dependence on me. As I listen to the voicemails, I realize Gavin is already one step ahead of me. The guy ordered pizza for us and all on his own too. I snort when I realize this glowing feeling is pride in my brother.

  Two messages from Dad, the first saying he’ll be late and the second reminding me to call if I’ll be late. Two from Celia. My heart falls when she finishes her rant—it appears there may be trouble in Jake paradise. I really like Jake. He’s good for her. She thinks football is more important to him than she is. I guess I’ll need to find a way to prove to her she’s dead wrong. Jake worships at the altar that is Celia.

  The last message is from Dave who can’t drive me to school in the morning, but could I bring his coffee anyway? Since they have an early morning football practice, I’ll oblige. I wonder what happened at practice this afternoon to warrant a five a.m. practice tomorrow. The coach must be furious about something.

  I ignore the texts for now. Frankly, I’m getting sick of that form of communication. Too many of my friends developed the habit of endless texts. Anyone who knows me well is aware they should leave a voicemail if they actually want me to pay attention.