She cursed the return of her psychic dreams, cursed Damien Morgan’s appearance, which had probably been the impetus for shaking loose her carefully buried psychic abilities. And she mourned the loss of the life she had so carefully built for Alex and herself over the past six years.
More than ever, she felt she was barely balanced on the edge, and the slightest push would send her into the abyss.
* * * *
It had been years since she’d had a psychic experience, but she hadn’t forgotten the physical aftermath, the nausea and nagging headache reminiscent of a hangover. But that wasn’t the reason Kara moved through the next day with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the woman in her dream, kept steeling herself to hear about another death. It crossed her mind to call Damien, but she shrugged the thought away. There was nothing he could do now, and she was determined to keep her contact with him to a minimum. They had agreed he would come over two nights a week to work with Alex, but that would be the extent of her cooperation.
“Dr. Kara?” said a soft voice, breaking into her thoughts. “Are you okay?”
Kara forced her focus back to the present, and managed to smile at Sara Thornton. “I’m fine, Sara. Sorry, but I was just…thinking about Alex.”
Sara, a short, thin woman with a heart-shaped face and straight, dark brown hair stared back at Kara. Her thick bangs emphasized her large brown eyes and the circles beneath them. Kara had smelled alcohol on her when she came in with her two children, and her heart ached for the family. She knew they were struggling to survive after David’s death.
“Well,” she said briskly, lifting ten-year-old Julie down from the exam table. “I’m pretty sure both Julie and Michael have strep.” She picked up the two cotton swabs lying on the stainless tray. “I’ll run the test, but I expect it to be positive.”
Seven-year-old Michael scrunched up his face. “Ah, bubble gum medicine again?”
“What, you don’t like it?” Kara teased. “Would you rather have pills?”
He made another face. “Yuck.”
“Let’s run the test first. Why don’t you two go ask Miss Bonnie to let you pick out some stickers while I do that?” Kara opened the exam room door and watched the children scamper toward the reception area. They were thin and dirty, although they showed no signs of malnourishment or abuse, and Sara seemed to genuinely love them. The woman just wasn’t coping well.
“Sara, it’s been over two years since you came in for a checkup,” Kara told her. “You need to come in for a Pap smear, at the very least.”
Sara brushed her dark hair out of her eyes. “I know, but money’s been tight, and I’ve been busy.”
“You still have the health insurance from David’s job, and I’ll waive the co-pay, just like I will today. But you have to take care of yourself, so you can be there for the children.”
“I know,” Sara whispered. “It’s just so hard with David gone—” She sniffed, scrubbed her hands over her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t sleep, most nights.”
Kara would have offered medication to help her sleep, but she was reluctant to because of the drinking. “You might try warm milk or herbal tea, and going to bed by ten every night,” she suggested. “A regular schedule will help. Have you considered counseling?”
Sara shook her head. “No, I don’t have the money, and it wouldn’t help. Nothin’ will.”
Kara gave her a quick hug. “You can call me anytime you want to talk, anytime at all. You have my home phone number.”
“Thank you.” Sara drew back and picked up her purse. “We’re lucky to have you, Dr. Kara. You really care about folks.”
Guilt swept through Kara. She didn’t feel very caring. She hadn’t done anything about her dream, hadn’t reported it to anyone. But she knew such an action wouldn’t help—if it followed the pattern of her past visions, it was already too late. She turned toward the door. “Let me run these tests.”
Later, when she got home, she felt tired and defeated. As much as she adored Doris, she didn’t feel like baking cakes and having to be upbeat and pretend everything was all right. But she had promised, and Alex was eager to go. Luz had just left to deliver a baby, promising to call Kara if there were any complications. Kara wasn’t wild about home deliveries, but knew many of Luz’s patients were very superstitious and didn’t trust Western medicine. At least Luz had been well trained by her mother.
So Kara put on a cheerful front for Alex. They got their coats and let Max out in the back yard. Then they raced each other, laughing, over to Doris’s, with Max barking madly after them. It was a gorgeous, almost-spring afternoon, and the sun beamed down benignly. The crisp air and revelry revived her sagging spirits. Letting Alex beat her to Doris’s house, she collapsed on the front steps, pretending to be totally winded.
“Beat you!” Alex crowed, his face flushed and his eyes bright with pleasure.
“Yes, you did.” Smiling, feeling better than she had all day, she rose and dusted herself off. She admired the pretty pansies bursting out of two terra-cotta planters on the porch. Doris had an amazing touch with plants and flowers.
“But I bet I’ll decorate more cakes than you,” she teased.
“Uh uh,” Alex said. “I’m the fastest helper Mrs. Burgess has. She told me so.”
“Well, then I challenge you to a cake decorating contest.” Kara climbed the steps and opened the storm door to knock on the ornate wooden door.
She knocked again, then rang the bell. She didn’t hear the sound of footsteps or other activity. “That’s odd. I know Doris was expecting us.”
“She’s probably in the kitchen,” Alex said. “She told me she doesn’t hear too good sometimes.”
“Doesn’t hear too ‘well,’” Kara corrected automatically, a dark twinge niggling her. She tried the door handle, found the door unlocked. She opened it and stepped inside. “Doris! It’s Kara and Alex.”
The silence that answered had the static sound of an empty house. Kara walked further in. “Doris? Are you here?” She heard a plaintive meow, as Doris’s cat, Tom, padded into the room. He meowed again, twined against Kara’s legs, then moved on to Alex, who squatted down and gave him the attention he demanded.
A heaviness settled in Kara’s body. Something felt wrong. “Stay here with Tom,” she told Alex. “I’ll look for Mrs. Burgess.”
“Mom, wait.” He stood and scooted to her side. “I don’t want you to go. It feels bad in here.”
The fact that he sensed something wrong only deepened her own uneasiness. “It’s all right,” she said, although she didn’t believe it. “You’ll be fine right here.”
He shook his head. “It feels really bad. Kinda like that time I watched The Sixth Sense.”
“Which you borrowed from Ben Martin without my permission,” Kara reminded him. “Stay here by the front door, and leave it open. If you see or hear anything really scary, run next door and get Mr. Roberts. Okay?”
He nodded reluctantly and squatted by Tom again. She walked across the living room and through the dining room to the arched entryway to the kitchen. A quick glance told her the kitchen was empty. The table was completely clear and spotless, as were the counters. No baking items were out. Very strange.
Her apprehension growing, Kara went through the kitchen and breakfast nook to the neat den, which was also empty. She headed for a hallway she knew led to the bedrooms, although she’d never been in that part of the house. Entering the hall, she froze.
A sense of déjà vu rushed at her. The length of hallway became distorted, the walls wavering. Suddenly light-headed, Kara braced herself against one wall with her right hand. She forced air into her lungs, blinked to clear her vision. And stared down the same hallway she’d see in last night’s dream. Oh, God, no.
While one part of her wanted to turn and run, she knew she had to go down that hall, had to know…
“Mom? Did you f
ind her?” Alex’s anxious voice came from behind her, and she whirled.
“Uh, no, sweetie, but she might be sick.” She crouched down beside him, tried to keep her voice level. “Do me a favor, and go wait for me on the front porch. I’m going to see if she’s okay.”
His expression turned fearful. “It feels even badder here. What if that ghost came over here and—”
“No,” Kara said firmly. “The ghost didn’t come over here. Go sit on the porch. You can take Tom with you.”
“Okay.” He turned and tromped back outside, with a wheedling, “Come on, kitty, kitty, kitty.” A meowing flash of white and gray fur followed him.
Kara turned back and stared down the hallway, which reverberated with an ominous energy. “Please be wrong,” she whispered. “Please be wrong.” She walked slowly down the hall, barely able to breathe, terror whipping through her, but she had to keep going. Not Doris. No.
Yes, some inner voice whispered. You know it’s true. Her dream visions had never been wrong. Her feet grew heavier and heavier as she approached the last door on the left. Her pulse pounded in her temples; the light-headedness returned. The doorway was just like her dream…but she had to find Doris. She closed her eyes, opened them again, and stepped through the doorway.
And stared at the body in the bed. Stared at the cream-colored pajamas decorated with colorful cups and saucers, horror welling inside her like a tidal wave.
She didn’t need her medical training for a diagnosis.
There was absolutely no life force in the room.
* * * *
Damien browsed through Sal’s Grocery. It was almost six thirty in the evening, but Sal stayed open past his usual six-o-clock closing if he had customers in the store, and apparently it had been a busy evening. Damien had spent the day in Fredericksburg, trying to determine if the murders there were linked to that of David Thornton, but hadn’t found any psychic trails to confirm it. He was of the opinion that Thornton was the first victim of this particular Belian, which meant it had recently come into possession of a body.
Tomorrow, Damien planned to revisit the river and wooded area where Thornton had gone into the water. For tonight, he was looking for something to eat, while listening to the Zorro residents in the store and simply feeling the energies. He’d also use a police scanner to monitor violent crimes, but so far, there wasn’t much criminal activity in Zorro.
He got a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a quart of milk, and a package of Oreos. It was a lot of carbohydrates, but he had a super-fast metabolism and could eat whatever he wanted, which suited him just fine, as he had a definite sweet tooth.
He caught himself wondering what Kara liked to eat. She was so slender, he suspected she was a light eater. She probably exercised regularly, as there was a hint of substance and muscle beneath the neat slacks and feminine sweaters she favored.
She’d been in his thoughts a lot, and more than once, he’d had to redirect his focus back to the boy and to the Belian he was tracking. It was her resistance, he told himself, the challenge of gaining her cooperation that held the fascination. His mantra of never getting involved with his conductors was so ingrained, it was virtually automatic.
He did everything in his power to ensure his noninvolvement, to the point that he didn’t kiss his conductors, not even in the throes of hot, steamy, conduction-induced sex. And it was only sex; he would never allow it to be otherwise. He knew firsthand and very painfully what happened when things became personal between a Sentinel and a conductor.
He’d have to hold a little more firmly to his resolve around Kara, because they had the strongest chemistry that he’d ever experienced with any conductor. The longer they were together, the stronger it pulsed and tantalized.
When—not if—she finally agreed to conduct for him, he had no doubt it would be an incredible conduction, which would require great care, because this Belian was very powerful, and might well be able to detect the sexual surge. But the being wouldn’t escape him. Damien had never failed, and didn’t intend to now.
He carried his items to the counter and set them down. “Hello, Sal.”
“Evenin’.” Sal started to ring up the food. He glanced sideways at Damien. “Hey, did ya ever find Dr. Cantrell to give her back that scarf?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” Damien reached for his wallet.
“I hear there was some bad news out her way earlier this evenin’.”
Damien froze, his wallet halfway out of his rear pocket. “What happened?”
“Had a death out there. Your total is $9.71.”
Damien’s heart speeded up as his senses went on full alert. “Who died?”
Sal peered over his glasses at Damien. “Dr. Cantrell’s neighbor, an elderly lady. Don’t have any details yet, exceptin’ Doc Cantrell’s the one who found her.”
Damien tossed a twenty onto the counter and grabbed the bag of groceries. He strode from the store, ignoring Sal calling out, “Ya forgot yer change!”
As he left, an absolute, chilling calm came down over him like a blanket settling over a bed. His power began to throb, already tuning itself for the hunt.
Heading for Kara’s house, he slipped into full Sentinel mode, ready to track and destroy the enemy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Five vehicles lined the street in front of the house north of Kara—the same house where Luz had taken Alex after the discarnate entity made an appearance. One vehicle was an ambulance, sitting silent, with its rear doors closed and no sign of interior activity. Two vehicles were police cars, but their engines were off, and there were no flashing lights. The house, however, had lights blazing from almost every window.
Inevitably, a group of people had accumulated outside to watch the comings and goings, despite the descending night and the cooling temperatures. It was probably more excitement than a quiet town like Zorro experienced in a year. Grimly predicting that would change in the near future, Damien parked and strode around the knot of people and up the sidewalk.
The area hadn’t been cordoned off, and no one was posted at the front door, an indication that this wasn’t being treated as a crime scene. Inside, two uniformed police officers were standing in the immaculate, stylish living room, one of them making notes on a clipboard. They went on alert when they saw him, started forward to head him off.
“Chief Greer wants me here,” he said, sending a slight mental push to back up his words. “I’m supposed to be here. It’s all right for me to look around. You won’t find any of my actions unusual or strange.” As with most humans, it was easy for him to manipulate their minds, and they nodded and relaxed.
Damien took a deep breath to center himself and lightly touched the medallion resting beneath his sweater. Made of the purest pink quartz crystal, it was attuned it to the energies of great Tuaoi crystal that lay amidst the ruins of Atlantis, in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. Hanging from a chain of silver, the stone was framed in intricately woven silver. Both the crystal and silver were conduits for the wisdom of The One.
Wearing the crystal was a calculated risk; any Belian who saw it would recognize it and know the bearer was a Sentinel. But the crystal facilitated a quicker rise of higher chakra energies and strengthened their focus, especially on a psychic scan of a Belian crime scene. Only a human conductor could offer a more powerful magnification.
Taking another deep breath, Damien allowed the crystal’s power to flow through him and open his chakras, as he expanded his awareness, letting it flare out around him. He mentally slammed against a wall of darkness, felt the oppressive weight of evil and utter absence of divinity. A Belian had been here.
As he made the connection, images came to him, like a movie, only choppy and uneven, as if a strobe light was flashing in the scene. He saw a human form engulfed in an overcoat, with a cap pulled low over the face. He couldn’t see any features; Belians were adept at blurring their psychic projections.
In jerky images, t
he figure jimmied the lock on the front door, slipped inside, and headed to a nearby hallway. The outside darkness in the vision told Damien it was nighttime, and Mrs. Burgess had been alive yesterday afternoon, so that narrowed the time frame of the murder. There was no doubt she’d been murdered. If a Belian was involved, there would be no other alternative.
He followed the dark trail to the hallway and down it as he watched the psychic replay of the Belian’s actions. It was more difficult to pick up an actual signature. He had learned to create a mental sphere, surround it with the powerful, protective energy of the Light, and then suck the negative, oppressive energies into the sphere.
Later, he could work with the energies and manipulate them into the Belian’s psychic signature. With the help of a conductor, he could amplify the signature even more, and begin to differentiate characteristics that would lead to the human identity of the Belian.
The stench of evil became more pronounced as Damien went down the hall, his vision leading him unerringly to the last doorway on the left. On an ethereal level, he watched the man/Belian enter the room, while on a physical level he heard voices as he approached the doorway. There were at least two men and Kara. He recognized her voice, pitched higher than usual, her agitation evident.
“Mr. Sampson, there’s no way you can declare this a natural death,” she was saying.
Damien paused outside the door, abstracted the energy that was even more decadent and evil here. “Dr. Cantrell, there’s no evidence to the contrary,” said a brisk male voice.
Damien stepped to the doorway, balancing the psychic replay of last night with real time. In the replay, a shadowy figure approached the sleeping woman in the bed, visible only in the faint glow of the night-light.
In the here and now, all lights in the room were on, people and equipment framing the centerpiece of attention—an elaborate, four-poster bed bearing the lifeless, stiff, and bent body of Mrs. Burgess. He felt a brief flare of pity for her soul and its ruined shell, but ruthlessly quashed it.
Touched by Darkness – An Urban Fantasy Romance (Book 1, The Sentinel Series) Page 10
