At Second Sight: Sentinels

by Meg Allison

  Hot tears filled his own eyes and Nathan took a shaky step toward her. “I didn’t mean it. It was an accident, you must know that. You have to know I would never, ever hurt you on purpose.”

  But somehow his words seemed flat, meaningless in the dull gray light of dusk.

  “I know,” she said at last. “But we both need a break. We’ve been at this for too many hours. I’ll be on the downstairs veranda pretending I’m not under house arrest and have some freedom left. I need some fresh air.”

  A quiet storm of flowing red hair and small, pounding feet and she was gone. The slam of the bedroom door echoed for a full minute after. He could only stand and stare after her as the spectacle of her fear and his harsh words played again and again in his mind. What the hell had happened to her before? Who was this Johnny that she seemed to still fear? She had to know he would never abuse her on purpose. Shame filled him as the spectacle of her sprawled on the floor played through his mind. It was an accident, but everything else had been his fault. If he hadn’t gotten her involved, the faceless bastard wouldn’t have set his sights on her.

  An hour later, he sat in an old Adirondack chair on the veranda listening intently to the cicada chirps and the soft rustle of leaves from the garden below. Tension coiled along the back of his neck and began to spread, slowly upward like a serpent. Each tick of the clock tightened the muscles as the tension slid up his neck to the base of his skull and higher. He stared out into the darkness, inhaling the stale sweetness of a myriad of vegetation as the sounds of the hidden washed over him. At one point, he thought he heard the hollow, tinny ring of a bell somewhere below. He listened for the sound again, but it stopped before he could even be sure it had happened. Minutes which felt like hours passed when he noted another sound as the bedroom door creaked open in the room behind him. He waited without turning or breathing for her to say something. Her soft footfalls drew near and he heard the screen door creak as she stepped out into the night air behind him. Still, he waited.

  “They found another body.” Her voice was flat, emotionless. He turned to face her and the sight of her tear-stained cheeks was like a physical blow to his gut. “Did you draw her?”

  He silently shook his head.

  “Liam called me from the precinct,” she said. “I guess he didn’t realize you hadn’t told me about it.”

  He swallowed. “I saw it in the morning’s paper. Adam thought—”

  “I don’t care what Adam thought,” she interjected. “I care what you thought. I care that you agreed not to tell me about something that affects me, as well. He’s not your father or your boss. You could have told me. You should have told me.”

  “I was going to, but then you woke up screaming and… Well, there wasn’t anything any of us could have done, Samantha. I’ve lost my connection, it seems. I didn’t draw the girl and had no idea this was coming. What would have been the point of burdening you with it now?”

  She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m not sure how much I can trust you right now. I think we need a break, Nathan. I know I need some space. Some time to think.”

  “But—”

  “No, I’m going home. I’m going to help my brother catch this animal once and for all. He probably still wants to kill me—you drew my death twice, after all—so I’ll be the bait. It’s the only logical thing to do.”

  She turned and walked away, through the bedroom and out into the hall. Nathan followed, desperation setting his heart at a gallop as he moved. She had to understand. She had to stay here with him, where she’d be safe.

  “You won’t even see him coming,” he reminded her as she neared the top step.

  “I’ll be protected,” she assured.

  The staccato tap of her feet down the stairs, followed by the slap of the front door felt like a series of physical blows. Ones he would gladly take in penance if she’d allow it. But Nathan could only stand motionless as headlights flashed across the downstairs windows and then were gone. He had scared her, something for which he’d never forgive himself. He told himself he wouldn’t hurt her on purpose, but during his visions he had little control over anything. If he wanted her to forgive and trust him again, then he’d have to get this so-called gift under control for once and for all.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Nathan frowned at the shrill, tight voice on the phone. “Mr. Miles?”

  “Do you realize I just spent two days being interrogated by the police?” the other man continued.

  “No, I—”

  “I’m not a perfect man, Nathan. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But I have never, ever killed anyone. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be accused of murder, Nathan? Can you even fathom how horrifying that was?”

  “No, I can’t imagine, Sir. I’m sorry, but I didn’t have anything to do with—”

  “Yes, you did,” the other man bellowed. “The drawing—the one I donated to that auction at your friend’s gallery. The police said you bought it. They said it has something to do with murder.”

  “Yes, I know,” Nathan said. “I gave it to the police Saturday. They just want to know who the artist was.”

  “I’m aware of that, Nathan. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told the cops for the past two days—I do not know who drew it. It was given to me anonymously years ago, when I first opened the office. A sort of office-warming gift from someone, I guessed. I just kept the damn thing because it intrigued me somehow.”

  “Listen, Mr. Miles, I’m sure the police won’t bother you any—”

  Bitter laughter stung Nathan’s ears. “Oh, of course they won’t, my lawyer is seeing to that. But it’s too late now. I’ve already been publicly humiliated. Because of you and that godforsaken drawing, they’ve dug into my past. A man should be forgiven, Nathan. Don’t you agree? Sins should be forgiven. But now everyone knows. Everyone is talking about me, Nathan. Everyone.”

  “I’m sure that not true, it probably just feels that way,” Nathan stammered. “But I don’t—”

  “Don’t bother coming into work,” the older man said. “Don’t come near my company again, Nathan. I’ll have your things and a final paycheck sent to your apartment.”

  “Now wait just a minute! I had nothing to do with this, Mr. Miles. I simply gave the police evidence—”

  The dial tone pealed shrill and hollow in his ear. Nathan closed his eyes and sighed as he hung up the receiver. No good deed ever went unpunished. He slumped in his chair and rubbed his temples. He couldn’t help the drawings. He had known from the beginning that sharing them would be a mistake, but how could he not? Those eyes…those dead, staring eyes haunted his dreams. He had thought, somewhat naively, that taking what he had to the police might do some good. That he might, for once in his life, accomplish something of value. He had only wanted to save at least one life.

  Now, Samantha was angry and refused to talk to him. He hadn’t had a good night's sleep since the drawings began, and he was now one among the thousands of unemployed artists in the world. It would somehow be worth it all if they were any closer to discovering the truth about their killer. But so far, Adam and Liam Bays had been unable to trace the drawing to anyone. It was as if it just appeared out of thin air. Or maybe it was drawn by a ghost.

  He stood and paced to his drawing table. The only solution was exactly what Samantha had said before. He had to learn to focus his gift. He had to control it instead of letting it control him.

  They had almost reached that point at Liam’s house. He could feel it. Now it was up to him to take the next step alone. Samantha couldn’t hold his hand forever—especially since she wasn’t even willing to give him the time of day. He grimaced as he stared at the blank space where the drawing had once hung. The killer’s drawing. All that was left was a vague, rectangular outline that was slightly darker than the rest of the wall. Nathan frowned at that. Darker? It shouldn’t be darker. If anyt
hing, the paint beneath should be a shade lighter.

  He walked across the wide, open room until he stood before the empty space. No, he wasn’t imagining things. It was a little darker where the charcoal cityscape had hung. It had only been there for a few months, but somehow the piece had left an indelible impression on his life in more ways than one.

  Something Samantha had once told him about objects and buildings holding residual emotions came to mind. What if that drawing had left an impression on the small portion of the wall it had touched? Was that even possible? Curiosity took over and he lifted his arm, reaching out carefully to touch the wall with his index finger. A jolt of something coursed through him at the small, tentative touch. Darkness filled his vision as a cloud of emotion enveloped him, threatening to drown him in its fury.

  Nathan gasped for air and pulled his hand from the offending surface. How could any individual experience so much hatred? He stared at the wall a moment longer and realized what he had to do. He didn’t have the picture to connect him to the killer, but this would most likely do just as well. Now he had to let the visions come and hope he had learned enough from Samantha to turn the tables on the killer.

  His knees wobbled as he walked to the far side of the room and slid onto the high stool at his drawing table Maybe once this mess was over and they had the bastard in custody—maybe then he could repair the damage he’d done to the best relationship he’d ever had.

  Nathan flipped the large sketch book open and grabbed a pen. He stared down at the stark white field, a tremor of fear threatening to choke the air from his lungs. He took a slow, steady breath and then closed his eyes. In order to fight his demons, he’d have to let them in first. Another tremor slipped over his skin, chill and cold. He let it, but only so much. It couldn’t take over. He had to keep control.

  Another breath, the tremor grew stronger. More intense. The answer lurked somewhere inside, within his subconscious or trapped between neurons. How did this work? Samantha said he had to let go, but keep the feelings tethered. He had to hold on. It was up to him to reach that balance—to turn the visions around.

  That was the answer. Just as Samantha had implied, he had to change his point of view. He had to literally turn the visions around. He focused on the desk lamp. The light made his eyes burn, but the feeling passed. The bulb seemed to swell and blur. The edges of his vision faded to gray, then fuzzy, and then black. Everything focused on the light.

  Colors flamed across his vision and for a moment he began to slip away. But he pulled back, the voice of Samantha soft in his ears as he remembered the words she said. Control. He had to keep control.

  He blinked and the lamp came back into view. The sensation filled his hand, but this time he still had focus with the smooth worry stone in his left hand, the pen in the other. Good. He could do this. This time he would watch the vision as it unfolded. He would turn the tables on their killer. He would spin the whole damn thing around like a top.

  With a slow, deliberate breath, Nathan smoothed his thumb over the slick stone surface. He took another breath and lifted his pen to the page. Let it come…let it come…

  At first his inner vision remained blank, as if removing the drawing from his apartment had severed his connection with the killer. But he continued to breathe, focus…breathe. Colors faded, wisps of smoke slowly lifted up and away to nowhere. He felt the tingle, the rush of something down his arm and to his hand. Then the pen moved as if of its own volition. A final prickle of fear stopped the process for what was likely only a tick of the second hand.

  What if he drew Samantha again? What if he couldn’t reverse the images? What if…?

  He shook his head and took one last breath that filled his lungs to the point of pain. It didn’t matter what he saw or what he drew this time. What mattered was turning around and finally putting an end to this. He wasn’t going to let even one more woman die at this monster’s hands.

  The bright white light began to shimmer and morph as it mourned the color’s loss. Shadows pulled from the center of the light, bringing with them form and shape. The halo around the light grew until it formed a dark void across his field of vision. Dark…it was so dark. An alley of some kind stretched before him. A street lamp overhead cast a weak orange glow at his feet.

  He’d never been in the vision before, not like this. He could see the alley around him. The sharp stench of urine and the underlying musk of decaying garbage pricked at his nose. This wasn’t the killer’s view, but he was in the right place. He had to be.

  Nathan took a wobbly step forward, deeper into the hell that awaited. Then he heard it: a rustling of papers…footsteps on the pebbles strewn about. He followed the sounds, only part of his mind aware that in no way was he physically moving except for the sweep of his thumb on the thin granite. He commanded himself to draw. It didn’t matter what he saw, but he knew he had to get it down on paper.

  Slow steps into the darkness and he carefully noted each building in detail. They looked mostly the same, except for a sign here…a splash of color there. Somewhere he heard the scritch-scratch of the pen nib. It was working. He was drawing the scene. But there had to be more. There had to be something else.

  A gasp echoed down the alley and he moved more quickly through the vision, fighting through mental quicksand to get to its source. Blood thundered in his ears and his heavy breathing seemed to shake the buildings around him. Then something seemed to take his control…a ghost of a presence had found his weakness. Another step and he struggled against the feeling of being controlled, but it wasn’t working. He wasn’t strong enough after all.

  Then he felt the cool hardness of the stone in his fingers, and Nathan began to wrestle free.

  “Turn…turn…turn…turn…turn…” he muttered again and again. He fought to twist his vision around, to turn it and face his tormentor. Inspiration hit in that moment, and he slowly began to turn the stone itself in his grip. Again, and again, faster and faster as he commanded the vision to also move.

  Dizziness swept over him as it all seemed to break free at once and Nathan felt as if his head was spinning like a top. Bile edged up his throat, but he fought it back.

  “I’m going to see this!” he shouted into the dark, spinning alley. “You can’t keep me away.”

  The vision slowly settled, like a boat bobbing on the waves after a storm. It lifted, rocked and slowly settled. Nathan realized he had fallen on the cold hard ground. He looked up, squinting against the darkness and pinpoint glare of the streetlamp in his field of view. A face loomed above him and he felt his pulse skip a beat. Who was it?

  It wasn’t a monster staring down at him. It was a familiar face. One with whom he’d shared many casual greetings in the previous days and years. But it wasn’t their killer so it had to be… oh, god. He must be seeing the next victim. But she only smiled at him and turned away.

  He snapped from the vision with the ferocity of a wrestler’s full body slam.

  Nathan sucked in a deep breath and stared at the window above his desk. He had failed. He hadn’t been able to identify their killer. But now they knew who to protect––they knew who would be next. The police could keep her safe.

  He thought of Samantha but knew he couldn’t dwell. Nathan picked up his cell phone and dialed a now-familiar number.

  “Adam? This is Nathan Quinn. I have a new drawing.”

  He listened for a moment and smiled slightly.

  “No, it’s not her, but I do know the victim this time. I think it’s time we catch this bastard once and for all.”

  * * ‡ * *

  Samantha scowled at her brother. “But why would he go after this Kathy Rose? She’s not a prostitute.”

  “Neither are you, Baby Girl,” Adam observed with a smirk. “But I trust Nathan’s visions, don’t you?”

  She looked away, unwilling to let big brother see the myriad of emotions that churned through her. Did she trust Nathan? Not so much now that she’d had a glimpse of the violence in hi
m compounded by ease with which he lied to her. But did she trust his visions? Yes. They had always been right on the mark.

  “So, you’re using her as bait?”

  “Nasty way to put it, but, yes,” Adam admitted. “Nathan hasn’t drawn you again, but he thinks this woman is next. It’s our best bet.”

  “It still doesn’t make sense,” she insisted. “How does he pick his victims? This woman doesn’t even have red hair.”

  “Not sure, but we ran a background check. Katherine Rose changed her name ten years ago, once she reached legal age. Her mother was arrested for solicitation twice, her father—or the man identified as her father—is serving life for her murder. Not an ideal childhood by any stretch. The state put her in the system at age thirteen when her mother died.”

  Samantha grimaced. “Lovely, and now this. What a life.”

  “I have my best detectives watching Miss Rose around the clock. She doesn’t have a clue she’s in danger and, hopefully, our killer hasn’t spotted them either. If he gets anywhere close to her, it will be soon and we’re ready. This is almost over, Samantha.”

  She should be happy. She should be celebrating with him, but something wasn’t right. Something just didn’t click. Nothing would feel right until they had the killer in custody.

  “So, she doesn’t know you’re using her to bait a killer?”

  “No, we don’t want her to panic and show our hand. We can’t let him run to ground now that we’re this close.”

  “Do the officers watching her know we don’t know how close he’ll be? That he may not even touch her?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I’ve filled them in on all the details. They’re good men and women, Sam. Each of them has had some experience with our more unique criminals. At this point they follow orders and just don’t even ask.”

  “Good, but he’ll at least be where he can see her,” she told him as a shiver passed over her skin. “He likes to watch. He may have to watch to make his particular gift work.”