by Meg Allison
“You’re doing wonderfully,” he heard Samantha tell him, her voice coming from a distance. Why had she moved away? “Do you feel a vision coming?”
“No.”
“That’s okay. Just concentrate on the feel of the stone and on each breath.”
He felt the air stir somehow. It felt like a sea breeze rustled through his hair, sending a slight chill down his spine. It snuck beneath the edges of the tangled sheet and lifted the fabric from his damp skin. His thumb slipped over the cool stone in small, clockwise circles. The rhythm grew slow along with the beat of his heart until the motion seemed to become a part of him.
Eyes closed, his senses focused to a pinpoint of sensation until all he could do was feel the air whisper over him; the stone in his hand; the throb of his pulse in his ears. Darkness filled his mind like a swirling cloud of smoke. His pulse quickened for a moment and then slowed as he remembered her presence beside him. Samantha would watch over him. She would keep him safe while he was weak and unguarded. The thought that he should trust her so completely gave him a moment of pause, but only a small moment.
His fingers tingled with that old familiar feeling when the images began to form somewhere deep in his subconscious. It grew stronger and he fingered the stone to keep the need to draw at bay, to keep his hand busy as the sensation intensified, filling every nerve, every cell almost to the point of pain.
Tension rose along the column of his neck and he grimaced as the muscles began to tighten. The sensation inched ever upward, over the base of his skull and higher until a vice gripped his head. The invisible tension squeezed, ever so slightly at first and then harder until he was sure the thick bone would crack.
“It’s all right,” he heard her voice as if from another room though he was sure she still sat at his side. “I’m here, Nathan, just breathe a little slower… that’s right… slow, steady… you have this, you have control.”
The tension ebbed a bit at her words.
“Now I want you to visualize the tension as a bright red light,” she continued. “Wherever you feel the pressure, imagine the light there… Got it?” he nodded slightly, “Good, now watch the red light move down… down your neck… take it past your shoulders. It sinks lower with each breath now and dissipates along your arms. Watch it slip over your forearms to your hands … let it seep from your fingertips and into the air.”
He sat breathing as he imagined soft red light flowing from his fingertips while he automatically moved his thumb over the slight concave groove in the oval stone. His shoulders dropped as the muscles along his neck seemed to lengthen and stretch with relief. Nathan sighed.
“Better?” she asked.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“The tension is gone, now empty your mind of all thoughts.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. It’s not easy but it can be done,” she insisted. “Now, breathe and let your thoughts wander. Imagine you’re in a field of tall grass. Now can you hear the water? There’s a stream nearby. Sit on the banks of the stream, Nathan, watch the water bubble and flow around the rocks… drifting gently along the grassy banks. Focus on the water and light reflected on the surface. Calm. Slow. Steady. Breathe in… out…in…out…”
Her voice faded away as he watched the bubbling stream. The sound of it grew loud in his ears, like a trumpeted lullaby. His body numb, forgotten, Nathan watched the images form in the light and shadows dancing across the small, lonely stream.
A flash of light, then dark. His breath hitched a bit, but he recovered quickly. More flashes…color and movement; shadows against the light. He watched, mesmerized as the images came into focus as if someone turned the lens on an old camera until the they became sharp, clear pictures. A face, a woman’s face flitted across the stream’s surface. She was crying and then gasping for air. She was drowning…no, she was being strangled. She clawed at her neck with both hands, frantically trying to rid herself of the invisible noose. But it tightened. He could see the pain in her large dark eyes. He felt her panic as her brain silently screamed for air…she needed air…
“No!” Nathan wrenched his mind free and stood abruptly, tossing the polished stone across the room. It cracked against the hard wood floor, bounced, and then slid beneath the wardrobe on the far wall. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “No, I can’t do this. I won’t do this. Not now. That’s enough.”
He expected disgust or recriminations, but she smiled softly up at him and nodded. “That’s fine. We’re both tired. We can try again maybe later? Even tomorrow?”
He didn’t comment, didn’t want to commit himself either way. But Nathan didn’t think this technique of hers would work with his cursed ‘gift’. What he needed was either complete control of it or to be rid of it once and for all. He wouldn’t admit that now. Not to her. He couldn’t bear to fail in her eyes.
Samantha stood, the blanket around her body like a sarong and her long hair tangled about her shoulders. God, she was beautiful. She slid her arms around his bare waist and drew herself close so that they touched from chest to knee. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent that was flowers and spice and all woman. This woman. His woman. He smiled and circled his arms around her. Then he laid his forehead against hers and let the last bits of fear fall away.
“Let’s go back to bed,” he said. “I need to hold you for a while. We both need some rest.”
Only he was fairly certain rest was not in the immediate future.
* * ‡ * *
She slept fitfully at his side. The unfamiliar noises of the house seemed to trumpet through the darkness as he held her, whispering words of comfort that he hoped she would hear on some level. All the while he laid there he felt an urgent need to get up and pace. Energy pulsed through his body, bouncing from cell to cell, muscle to muscle like an errant spark from a tesla coil.
Finally, when she seemed to have fallen into a deeper, more restful sleep, Nathan rolled away from her and slipped out of bed. He looked down at her for a long moment, wishing he could be the man she needed right this minute. He wished he controlled his gift and could unmask the bad guy before anyone else died. She needed a knight in shining armor when he felt more the jester trying to impress the king.
He crept to the door and cautiously made his way down the dark, narrow hall to the main staircase. The treads creaked and groaned beneath his feet with each step. At the bottom, he stood and listened. Silence echoed around him, filled with the night sounds he couldn’t tune out upstairs. Liam had gone to bed hours earlier so that he might as well be alone in the big old house.
Nathan wandered the spacious rooms for some time, unable to rest but without any real direction to follow. His thoughts jumped from memory to memory as his feet moved from cool, smooth wood to knobby Berber carpet and back. He didn’t turn on any lights but let himself be guided by the muted glow of street lamps that filtered through the tall windows and bounced off each polished and mirrored surface.
Liam’s home was a work in progress and it had been since they’d known each other. He had taken an old, abandoned plantation style house and was slowly turning it into a showplace. But still it had the intrinsic feel of what could only be described as home. Nathan envied his friend. Liam had so much of what Nathan admired and longed for in his life: a home of his own, respect of colleagues and friends, and, most of all, family. While he had achieved some measure of those things himself, Nathan knew that only a family of his own would make it all complete.
He shook the thoughts away as he paced the circumference of the long, narrow dining table with its waxed finish. He put out a hand and let his fingers drag along the surface as he moved. The cool wood felt like glass and smelled of lemons. Then he noticed a small side table near the wall and a stack of newspapers on top as if they’d been dropped in a hurry. Nathan frowned as he crossed the small space and picked up the newsprint. When he looked down at the front page of the Savannah Crier his heart seemed to stop for a
beat: Savannah Killer Strikes Again.
Nathan squinted at the story below, the tiny font difficult to read in the dim light. Finally, just as Adam had feared, the news of Savannah’s serial killer had made the front page. There was no crime scene picture, naturally, as such things would be deemed too vulgar for a family friendly paper. But as he read the story, he realized something didn’t add up. He hadn’t drawn this murder, he was sure. Not yet, anyway. He laid the paper back on the table and stared at nothing in particular. Had getting rid of the murderer’s drawing severed their connection? Was that why he hadn’t known this was coming? While he would consider it a blessing any other time, he wondered if it would make finding the bastard even more difficult? He hadn’t been able to identify the killer or his victims, but with Samantha’s guidance he might have gotten to that point.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. The adage rolled through his mind as he turned to make his way back through the house and upstairs. He needed to tell Samantha. She would find out anyway. Halfway up the staircase a scream set his heart racing, his feet following suit as he bounded up the dark treads to find Samantha sitting up in bed, staring at the far wall with a wide-eyed, glazed expression. Then he was at her side, gathering her shaking body close against his, every other thought pushed to the background.
Chapter Eleven
Nathan was beside her, his dark eyes wide with concern. He was talking to her, but she couldn’t hear him past the roar of her pulse in her ears. She held on to him for a few minutes until her panic attack passed. He sat there and held her, dressed only in pajama pants as he rocked and held her. At last, she stopped shaking and let her body go limp against his strong, lean frame.
“I was dreaming again,” she told him, although she was sure he’d surmised as much. “I…I was so scared. I’m tired of this, Nathan. I hate feeling like a victim.”
“I know,” Nathan soothed as he ran a hand up and down the length of her back. “I was downstairs when I heard you scream. I couldn’t get to you fast enough.”
She leaned back and frowned at him. “I didn’t wake you?”
Nathan glanced away, “No, I woke up about an hour ago, and couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“I’m sorry,” her face burned at the notion. “Did I wake Liam?” she asked with a glance at the bedroom door.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “The walls are pretty thick and he’s clear at the other side of the house.” Then he smiled and got off the bed to rummage for some clothes in his suitcase that still sat on the dresser. “Hey, are you hungry? How about you get a shower and then I make us both some breakfast? Then you can continue teaching me how to control my gift.”
“You’ve decided to continue?”
“I have,” he said with nod. “And I don’t want to leave here until I can control these visions once and for all, Samantha. I don’t care how long it takes.”
* * ‡ * *
Nathan listened to the water running in the adjoining bath, hoping Samantha would take her time so he could take care of something out of earshot. When he was sure she was occupied, he retrieved his cell phone and dialed Adam’s direct line.
“Bays.”
“Yeah, Adam? This is Nathan.”
“Is Sam okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine,” he said as he paced across the room and walked out onto the veranda. “She’s in the shower at the moment.”
“Any ill effects from her attack?” her brother asked.
“No, I don’t think so, except for the nightmares. Listen, I haven’t had a chance to talk with Liam privately. Did the charcoal drawing lead you anywhere?”
“Yes and no,” Adam stated. “I know who donated the drawing to Liam’s gallery, but we haven’t been able to determine anything beyond that.”
Nathan ran a hand through his hair, feeling more than a little irritated at having to drag information from the other man.
“Well, didn’t the donor draw the thing? Who was it anyway?”
A beat of silence left Nathan wondering if their call had been disconnected. Then he heard Adam sigh.
“The donor was Dave Miles, your boss.”
Nathan stared at the far wall, his gaze unfocused as he took in the new twist. “But…that doesn’t mean he drew it. Does it?”
“No, but we brought him in for questioning this morning. He’s not saying a whole hell of a lot, to be honest. He already insisted we call his attorney and that’s why we’re stalled for the meantime. I can’t question him until the guy gets here.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Don’t only guilty people ask for lawyers?”
“Well, it does make us wonder if Mr. Miles has something to hide. But it’s his right and a lot of innocent people call for lawyers when we question them. Seems we’re a bit intimidating.”
Nathan snorted in response, but couldn’t help but wonder. Did his boss have something to hide? Where had he obtained the drawing produced by a serial killer?
“I can tell you that your employer does have a record,” Adam added.
“A record? As in a police record?” Nathan realized how stupid he must be sounding but his thoughts were too disjointed to deal with otherwise.
“Yep, mostly petty stuff like shop-lifting, and bad checks from about ten years back. But then there are a few charges that were dropped a bit more recently that have us interested.”
“Can you tell me what they were?”
“I shouldn’t, but I will. He was accused of battery, assault with intent, and resisting arrest.”
“Shit.”
“He was never convicted, however, because the young woman dropped the charges for some reason.”
“Who was she?”
“A prostitute.”
“A…? Oh, God, and I’ve been working for him… Shit, that must be what he was intimating when he said he had ‘friends’ that could help me relax if I needed it. Damn.”
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Adam warned. “Just because the man has a past and some sleazy friends or habits doesn’t mean he’s guilty of murder.”
“I read about the new victim,” Nathan blurted.
“Has Sam?”
Nathan swung around to face the bathroom door. “No, and Adam, I’m fairly sure I haven’t drawn this one. I think I may have lost my connection to the killer.”
“Hopefully you won’t need it anymore,” Adam told him. “Ah, listen, the attorney is here finally. I’ve got to go. Let me see where this interview takes and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
Silence let Nathan know the other man had ended their call. He didn’t like keeping things from Samantha, but hopefully Adam knew what he was doing. There really wasn’t any reason to tell her another woman had already taken her place. What good would it do? Neither of them could have stopped it.
* * ‡ * *
For the rest of the day they worked together, side by side as she gently guided him through the process of focusing his thoughts and controlling his visions. It was slow, arduous work and many times he felt like tossing the mediation stone into the deepest part of Liam’s overgrown garden.
At first the object was mainly to control his own thoughts. After hours of this, she taught him to take hold of the visions one piece at a time. The stone in his hand served as an anchor—a visual and tactile reminder to grasp each scene. Once he’d found the rhythm of that, she coaxed him into internally turning the visions.
“You need to switch your point of view,” she told him after one particularly frustrating session. “It’s as if you’re grabbing a camera from another person’s hands and turning the lens to focus on them instead of their initial subject.”
Nathan felt more and more agitated and knew that it showed. But he couldn’t seem to follow her direction. He was an artist and a writer. He should have a better handle on perspective and visualizing abstract concepts. He couldn’t stop thinking about his boss being interrogated by the intimidating Adam Bays. Was the man guilty of beating
up women? Could he have gone further over the edge and killed all the women Nathan had drawn?
“You’re not focusing—” Samantha’s clear voice grated on his last raw nerve.
“Damn-it, I’m doing the best I can,” he snapped at her and stood to clomp across the room. He glared out of the second-floor veranda window for a long moment, fighting to control his breathing and to calm the anger boiling over. A cool breeze drifted through an open pane, bringing with it the fresh night air.
He moved his thumb over the stone in his hand, but instead of comfort, the smooth surface seemed to mock him. Something pinched and he realized he was getting a blister where one dull edge continually chaffed his skin. That’s all he needed: another reminder of his failure, another wound to mark his inadequate attempts to save the life of the woman he loved. Hot, feral anger rose in him and he yanked open the veranda door, and then lifted his arm to toss the offensive stone out into the dark, tangled weeds.
Samantha grabbed his arm before he could finish his intent. He jerked his hand away from her instinctually. The movement set her off balance and she stumbled backward before she fell hard on her ass on the cold, bare floor. Air rushed from her lungs and she sat staring up at him with large, scared eyes. For a moment, Nathan could only stare in disbelief. When had everything gotten so out of control? Remorse swallowed him whole when he bent to help her up, but she flinched away from his touch.
“No,” she ordered, almost pleaded. He could only stare down at her in shock.
“I-I didn’t mean it,” he stuttered as heat filled his face. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“That’s what Johnny said,” she muttered as she turned and pushed herself to her feet.
“What? Who’s Johnny?”
“I thought I loved him. I thought he loved me. But I wasn’t enough—I was never enough. Then he tried to…” Tears filled her eyes as her voice broke. “He hurt me. I swore I’d never, ever let another man hurt me.”
