A major police investigation is now underway into what appears to be a serial killing. The property is being searched for more bodies, and forensic police are attempting to establish the perpetrators of this shocking crime. So far no one has been identified and no charges have been laid. The owner of the property appears to be listed as a shell company registered in the Bahamas.
This is potentially the worst serial killing in Queensland’s history . . .
Ever since Cait returned to Melbourne from Sicily she had been having visions. Graphic, real-time, disturbing visuals of James’s resting place constantly invaded her subconscious, parking themselves in her mind unsettlingly somewhere between reality and the spiritual world.
James was always there, lingering on the periphery of her thoughts, softly whispering to her, leaving a trace of his calling, connected by a distant umbilical-like thread through the ether that indelibly bound him to her. Cait was his protector, his savior. He had an ethereal bond with her that defied logic.
Recurrent visions of James’s demise, vivid images of where his mutilated remains had been abandoned and buried, disturbingly kept flashing through her head on an all too regular basis. Images of his grave lying alongside others who had met the same fate, haphazardly placed without consideration or any markings on a hillside looking down a valley into a lush rain forest far below, haunted her.
James’s remains are under a large stand of tall oak trees in a beautifully manicured garden, rotting, decaying, eaten by maggots and worms . . .
The same reoccurring picture repeated over and over again on the movie screen inside Cait’s head as if it was on a loop.
So Cait took matters into her own hands. She hunted out the email that Macillicuddy had forwarded to her back in January from Rose Smith, James’s mother. Her plea for help. She was desperate to find closure surrounding the sudden disappearance of her son.
And Cait emailed Rose. Probably one of the most difficult letters she had ever had to compose. Without wanting to sound like an out-there zealot who was into some dogmatic clairvoyant fanaticism, Cait introduced herself by identifying how the loss of a loved one without closure can be like a cancer, gnawing away in the background, slowing destroying your life force from the inside out.
Cait was able to emphasize with Rose after the trauma of her own loss when her lover, Rishi, was brutally and senselessly murdered two years ago.
From:
Date: 12 September at 10:23:19 am AET
To:
Subject: The tragic circumstances surrounding James’s disappearance
Hi Rose,
My name is Cait. In February this year Robert Macillicuddy from The Australian Tribune forwarded an email to me that you sent to him in response to the article he wrote, “Our Missing Children.”
He thought that I may be able to help out in some small way in your search for closure on this terrible time in your life, as I too had experienced a similar traumatic event with the unsolved murder of my soul mate and partner.
Without wanting to raise your hopes up too much, I believe that I may be able to shed some light on your young son’s disappearance and his current resting place.
If it’s not too painful to go over old ground and you would like to have a chat about this please feel free to contact me on my email, or ring my mobile 0407 123 987 anytime. If not, I totally understand, and I will not bother you again.
I am in Melbourne, and from what Robert told me you are in Cairns. Is that correct?
Kind regards,
Cait Lennox
Cait received a call on her mobile from Rose within an hour of sending her email. Cait instinctively knew that she had to take things gradually when she explained about her visions and her contact with James in the Otherworld, but regardless, a certain leap of faith was required before she could proceed. Cait had no other option but to jump in feet first and hope that Rose understood.
“Rose, your son is resting close to you. He’s buried at the bottom of a grassy slope in a dell, underneath a stand of large oak trees,” Cait said, true to her vision and to the whisperings that James had left in her head.
Rose went silent, as quiet as the last minute of life before you know an atomic bomb is about to hit and destroy everything.
“Oak trees in the tropics are an uncommon planting in a rain forest environment,” continued Cait, determined to follow through with verbalizing James’s whisperings.
She had no other option.
“Do you possibly know of any gardens like this? The trees are very large and quite old, and the gardens are well established, so wherever this place is it’s been there for a long time.”
James was back in Cait’s head one more time, guiding her. But Rose had to stay in the dark, as if she mentioned his presence Cait knew it would all be too much for her to process. There was every chance Rose would simply switch off.
But to the contrary, Rose felt a spark of recognition, a glimmer of hope returning to a void that had been vacant and empty for the past three years, ever since that terrible day in May when her son failed to return home from school, and for her the world had ended.
“Yes, possibly, now that I come to think of it,” replied Rose after a long pause, the only sound on the other end of the line while she processed Cait’s suggestion being Rose’s sad breathing into the mouthpiece.
“There’s an old colonial property about three kilometers to the west of Gordonvale, up in the foothills. It was one of the first houses in the area. You can see the oak trees from the road when you drive through the valley.”
Cait was aware that to free James from the samsara of drifting aimlessly as a lost soul in the emptiness of eternity she had to help Rose locate his interred body. Her son had to be exhumed and given a proper burial in blessed ground. This was the only way he would escape the pull of the Gatekeeper. Otherwise James’s soul would be doomed to wandering in an infinity of nothingness, what some may call Hell, lost with no peace or resting place.
Aware that she had helped James to the best of her mortal—and Otherworld—abilities, Cait knew that it was now up to Rose to deal with the information as she saw fit. All Cait could do from this point forward was hope that Rose would follow through.
And she did.
Rose immediately contacted her brother, who was a sergeant in the local Cairns Police, and after much convincing, a raid ensued on the property with the stand of oak trees.
Five young bodies were recovered, scattered in shallow graves at the bottom of the dell. James’s DNA identified him as being one of the poor lost souls.
“Thank you so much for everything, Cait,” said Rose at James’s wake. “Without your insights and revelations, James’s body would have never been discovered.”
Rose’s puffy, red eyes welled with tears as she spoke. But her tears weren’t for her son. Rose had cried a waterfall of tears for James already. Rather, they were tears of gratitude. She was beyond being able to say a simple “thank you” to Cait. Those two simple words couldn’t express the overwhelming gratefulness she had in her heart for a person she thought was such an amazing human being.
Cait’s act of kindness and dogged persistence had touched Rose in a way she never thought possible. Cait had collected another disciple who would follow her to the ends of the earth if requested.
So Rose just let the emotion of the moment do the talking. Cait saw extreme sadness behind Rose’s eyes, but also relief at finally being able to achieve closure for her murdered son. He was now with his Maker, resting in peace. Rose could now visit him at his grave, talk to him, reminisce, enjoy the memory of his short life on earth.
The challenge of having no closure was over.
Cait reached out with both arms and enveloped Rose, holding her reassuringly, saying nothing, just letting their auras merge. Rose felt a tingle run through her body from her head to her toes, and James appeared to her, whispering:
I’m resting in a silver place
, surrounded by light and warmth. Thank you for saving me. I love you. I’m here, waiting for you when you cross over. I’ll visit you often.
With that, images of James forever remained, permanently etched into Rose’s memory banks, but his words gradually faded like the setting sun after a beautiful day.
He was gone for perpetuity. But in peace.
James had one more call to make on his path to his final resting place. He had to return to Cait one last time.
“Cait,” whispered James. “The Gatekeeper no longer has control of me. I’m free at last.” His voice was resonating around excitedly inside her head.
“He’s still down there on the Other Side, hidden in the darkness, his evil in that black nothingness he exists in sucking in those transitory souls like me who happen to pass his way.
“But I’m not his anymore. He can’t get to me. Thank you, Cait.”
James’s sentient being, his physical reality in his life was finally able to move on to another dimension, another place, another existence. His soul had been through a thousand reincarnations, and now his life force could finally transition again into the next existence, pure and unadulterated.
Cait was having a vision. James had contacted her on his transition from this dimension to the next. He had appeared in her head for one last time before he finally left this world for a new reality.
“I’ve grown, Cait, moved on from what I was. I can still see the Gatekeeper, feel him. He’s always there. He’s the evil dark side, what you call the Devil, but he can’t get me anymore. I’m floating free in another place, another time.”
Cait had met James’s soul—the footprint of his consciousness—in the Otherworld, where he was finally able to exist without fear of being dragged back to that dark abyss.
James had a final message for Cait before he passed over into his new reality:
The Gatekeeper has the Brethren under his power. They’re evil. They’ve already kidnapped another young boy for him. You must save him, Cait. You have to stop this from happening. The Gatekeeper is about to sacrifice someone again. The boy’s name is Marcus. Find him. You can do this, Cait. You have the power.
“Cait, I keep having visions of that young boy Marcus.”
Dec was in their living area, tying to settle into a home that was once so visual for him, but was now just memories and blackness. He was having a hard time coming to grips with being blind in familiar surroundings. In his mind’s eye he could still visualize where all their furniture was placed, but he’d never had to actually negotiate the space on memory alone.
And, much to his frustration, Dec kept walking into things. Table corners that left a telltale bruise on his legs, chairs that hadn’t been returned to their normal position, doorways that he misjudged and doors that he crashed into.
He found it tough adjusting.
And strangely, by way of compensation it seemed the more time passed since his catastrophic injuries in Sicily, the greater the intensity of his visions increased and crystallized. Physically he was healing well. The repair work that Syzchowski had undertaken to put his shattered body back together was nothing less than remarkable. Even the doctors in rehab that he visited in Melbourne were amazed.
But Dec mentally needed a crutch to lean on. Someone who could guide him through the unfamiliar maze of the physical and metaphysical world that was now confronting him, and he found himself relying on Cait. She was his mentor, his guide, his go-to person; the one whom he knew understood what he was transitioning through. G and Jools were always there, always supporting him and he couldn’t wish for more from his parents, but Cait and him had a special bond. And now they were spiritual partners, with a common link to the Otherworld.
His sister just got it.
“Cait, the Gatekeeper. That thing that you rescued me from. I’ve been feeling his presence a shitload lately. He’s out there, sucking in lost souls. And he wants Marcus. He’s going to sacrifice him.”
Dec was opening up to Cait, trying desperately to make sense of his visions. They were just so full on, so new to him, so convoluted, that he was having trouble making sense of what had been running around in his head of late.
“Yeah, Marcus has been visiting me too,” replied Cait. “Even though he’s drugged, he knows he’s about to die. And the poor kid’s terrified. Somehow I’ve got to help him, but I can’t get a handle on where he’s being held captive.”
Marcus’s plight was like a huge paddle inside Cait’s head, stirring up frightening memories of when she was kidnapped herself eighteen months ago by the sergeant at arms of the Warlocks—Boss-man, the thug with the cobra tattoo, the brutal bikie. He had not only caused her much pain and anguish, but he was also her first kill.
She simply couldn’t let Marcus experience the trauma of what she went through.
Cait had The Gift on her side then, but poor, defenseless Marcus, well, he had nothing, and no one.
Except her.
“He’s in a dark place. A large basement,” said Dec, recalling his last vision of Marcus in graphic detail. “It’s under a large house in a tree-lined street. There was a dark-colored car in the driveway.”
“Jesus Dec, that’s some vision. The ones I have are never that clear,” said Cait, quite amazed at how the Otherworld was manifesting for her brother.
“Anything else about the car?” Cait had a feeling that if she forced Dec to dig deeper into his memory banks that just maybe he might recall something that could help her pinpoint Marcus’s location a bit more.
“Let your mind drift. That’s what I do. See what runs through your head.” Cait was teaching him how to interpret his visions.
“Don’t expect anything. Just go with the flow, little bro.”
Even though Dec was blind, he still closed his eyes out of habit to let his thoughts wander as he searched inside the recesses of his gray matter.
“Yeah Cait. The car had a weird license plate now I come to think of it. Started with ‘Brt’. . .”
Dec was like his sister, both having inherited G’s photographic memory.
He let the thought percolate, then sat bolt upright and almost yelled, “That’s it, sis! ‘Brthrn.’ I remember the name now because it strangely reminded me of ‘rhythm,’ which is a word for some reason I still can’t spell.”
Cait now had something to pass on to O’Donnell. He’ll be able to run a license check on the plate.
“Marcus is being held captive in a disused building. I’ve seen it, Tony. Just like in Catania when I saw Tariq.”
James’s final parting pleas for Cait to find the child before he was sacrificed had been disturbingly echoing around inside her head like a spoken word in the whispering gallery of St Paul’s Cathedral. Marcus was there in the ether, taking form and shape, begging, screaming silently for help. The poor helpless child was drugged, lost, wandering in a wasteland with no map, looking for a direction, but only finding dead ends.
And the Gatekeeper was chasing him, demanding his pure, innocent soul to satisfy his lust for eternal existence.
Cait’s heart went out to Marcus. He had to be rescued. But she needed the tactical skills and brawn of O’Donnell to help her.
“That poor kid is around us here . . . somewhere,” Cait continued, drawing on her Gaelic background and weaving a virtual spell, a bricht, with her words, sucking O’Donnell in with the silky smoothness of her voice.
“I can feel his presence. And he’s terrified. Marcus came to me in a vision again last night.”
Cait had matured in her ability to decipher and untangle the plethora of jumbled information that her visions dumped on her. She was now much more able to process the scattergun spread that her insights fed her and find a pattern and a continuity of insight.
“And Tony, there’s more.”
O’Donnell suddenly tuned in. He had heard Cait’s “and there’s more” comments before, and they were more often than not a deal breaker. Somehow she always managed to throw in the clincher, right at
the end.
“Tell me, Cait. I’ve seen that look before . . .” said O’Donnell, his total focus on her.
“Dec’s also been having visions of Marcus,” replied Cait, pleased that she had O’Donnell’s undivided attention.
“He’s got a plate for you to run a check on. It’s a car at the place where Marcus is being held.
“Ask Dec. I’m sure he’ll fill you in.”
Once again, O’Donnell was flummoxed: How in the hell does this family know these things? It’s unnatural.
“So Dec, tell him,” said Cait, passing the baton on to her brother.
Dec was uneasy being in the limelight. If anything, he felt embarrassed. But this was important, so he pushed himself out of his comfort zone.
“The license plate?” said Dec almost sheepishly.
Jools looked on from the periphery, taking in her son’s changed demeanor, his lack of confidence compared to the outgoing, fun-loving person who had left Australia with them only eight weeks ago.
G and I are really going to have to work on that. Dec needs to realize that he’s still the same beautiful person that he always was, sight or no sight.
Jools was on the edge, circulating, in tune with what was going down, but hanging back at the same time. She knew that this was Cait’s journey, so all she could do was act as the confidant and interpreter of visions.
O’Donnell was having a bite to eat at G and Jools’s house in Elwood with Cait and Dec, and he was currently sitting outside on the patio with Cait and Jools. It really was such a lovely, clear, cloudless night that it was a shame to waste it.
G was playing host extraordinaire. He’d just disappeared into the kitchen to grab some more drinks. G was definitely of the opinion that there was nothing worse than an empty glass at a meet and greet.
Also, Dec needed a pee, so he had guided him to the bathroom.
The Cait Lennox Box Set Page 74
