The Chronicles of the 8th Dimension - Limited Edition Box Set (4 Books): A Supernatural Thriller Box Set

by Carissa Andrews

  “Absolutely. What can I do to help?” I ask, widening my arms to suggest they take a seat.

  The woman moves quickly, clutching something small in her hand. The man stays behind, his eyes scrutinizing my every move. I hold my ground, waiting for him to finish comparing dicks.

  Finally, he moves to the open seat beside his wife.

  I catch Renaldo’s eye as he diva air snaps and walks out.

  Moving slowly, I extend my energy out, getting a feel for the situation before they even say a word. This situation, the reason they’re here, is more important than most. It’s about a child.

  Missing? Dead?

  I light a white candle and take my seat opposite them.

  Watching both closely, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know the wife is distraught—outta her mind worried. The husband has reserved himself for the worst. Oh, and he thinks I’m complete bullshit.

  “So, where would you like to start?” I say, simply.

  “I—well, I mean we—” the woman begins, blinking wildly as she searches for words.

  “It’s okay. Let it come out as it should,” I say, leaning in and waiting for the oncoming storm.

  “How old are you?” The man blurts out.

  If it wasn’t written all over his face, I’d be taken more aback.

  The left side of my mouth quirks.

  “Honey,” the wife warns, her eyes wide and forehead scrunched.

  “It’s a reasonable question,” he says, his voice deeper and nostrils flaring.

  I lean back in my chair.

  “Ted, it is Ted, right?” I say, crossing my fingers over my knee, and watching his expression shift slightly when I get his name right. “How old were you when you realized you could breathe?”

  He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his eyebrows tugging in.

  “I thought as much,” I say, not letting him define his answer. “Look, what I do comes from outside myself. I’m not the one in charge. Something much bigger is. I don’t presume to understand it fully or even try to. So, either we can get down to business so we can find…” I close my eyes searching for the name. “Esther?”

  I open my eyes to see his lips press into a thin line.

  “—or we can have a philosophical debate about age,” I finish.

  His wife, Lacy, I gather, grabs his right hand in her left, clutching it so tightly her knuckles turn white.

  She whispers, “I told you she was the real deal.”

  Ted’s nostrils flare, but he keeps his trap shut.

  Finally, we can get somewhere.

  “Lacy, I need the necklace in your other hand, if you don’t mind,” I say, pointing to her free hand.

  With a shaky extension, she reaches out and lets the dainty silver necklace tumble into my palm.

  Instantly, I’m inundated by flashes of a blonde, brown-eyed eight-year-old girl. She’s playful, artistic, incredibly intelligent. She loves reading, dogs, and more than anything else, her parents. This is no runaway.

  “Can you—do you sense where she is?” Lacy asks, her voice cracking.

  I take a deep breath and shake my head.

  “Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work like that. Objects hold energy, yes, but they’re not necessarily tied to her present, future, or even the event itself. I get snippets, but I need context. How long has she been missing?” I ask.

  This isn’t the first missing child I’ve dealt with, but this one is more urgent somehow. Of course, they’re all urgent, but this one hold some sort of importance and I can’t put my finger on what it is.

  “Three days,” Lacy says breathlessly. “The police—they can’t find any leads. They’re frantically searching but it’s not fast enough. She’s only eight.”

  Tears stream down her face as she reaches out for the necklace. I place it gingerly into her palm and she clutches it to her chest.

  I take another cleansing breath and try to settle into the energy. Esther is alive, that much is for sure—but beyond that, everything is slightly obscured.

  “Were there any clues or items out of place at the scene?” I ask, knowing full-well the police never declared an actual scene. They didn’t have enough to go on.

  “We don’t know. Not for sure. We have some guesses as to where, or even who may have done this, but the police are having trouble making a connection. We were hoping—” Lacy looks tentatively at Ted, who sits stone-cold in the chair, still processing.

  “Okay, what do you think you know?” I ask, trying to open their minds enough for me to dig around.

  Ironically, it’s Ted, not Lacy who begins to relay the most information. Despite his stoic stature, he thinks about the day of the event and all of the situations leading up to her disappearance. The people he suspects. The whys.

  I catch a flash of a man with a litter of puppies—the one thing Esther would love to get her hands on. It’s also the one thing Ted and Esther could never agree on. She wanted one in the worst way, and Ted couldn’t deal. One more mouth to feed when he was worried about losing his job. His company is downsizing and he’s afraid they don’t need him. A puppy right now was the last thing they needed. Especially since he hadn’t voiced his concerns with his wife.

  “Good, good,” I say, nodding at Ted.

  His eyes widen, and he glances at Lacy, “What in the hell is this woman doing? What in the hell have you dragged us into?”

  “The man, the one with the puppies—who is he?” I say, standing up and leaning with my fingertips pressed on the glass table between us.

  “He—uh—” Ted blinks rapidly, clearly reaching his max-spook point as his chair screeches backward when he stands up and backs away.

  I hold my hands up apologetically. It can be a lot to take in when you’re expecting a fake.

  “Tell her, Ted. Please,” Lacy begs.

  Ted glances from Lacy, back to me. His mouth gapes open slightly as his eyes search the not-so-distant past.

  “I dunno. He’s a guy who peddles puppies in the park. He’s always creeped me out, but I thought he was harmless. Esther and I—we talked about him, though. She knows she isn’t supposed to talk to him without me or her mom. Lately, I dunno, he’s been persistent with us. Esther wants a puppy in the worst”—he looks up, his eyes full of fear—“anyway, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Okay, I need you to take a seat and hold out your hands,” I tell him, pointing at the chair he’d kicked aside.

  He does so without question, though I can tell he doesn’t understand why. His brain is on overload, but curiosity and a glimmer of hope starts to take seed.

  As he holds out his hands, I slide mine underneath—the receiving mode—so our palms touch. Instantly, I see the man’s face, the last interaction between the three of them. Through the energy transfer, there are glimpses of truth behind the puppy peddler, not the assumptions made by Ted. His name is…

  I tilt my head slightly, as I reach out for it.

  Burt? Brent?

  Yes, Brent.

  He’s in his mid-forties but has a developmental delay of some sort. His mental age is still much younger. He loves puppies. And he loves little girls. Only recently has he learned to use one to get the other.

  My eyes flip open.

  “We don’t have much time. Your suspicions about Brent are spot on. He has a thing for little girls. He wasn’t a bad guy, not at first, but something has snapped. Maybe he’s off meds or something. We’ll need to act quickly, before the trail goes fully cold,” I say.

  Lacy’s eyes widen and she clutches the necklace to her chest as she holds back tears.

  Ted nods, “He always comes out of the small apartment complex by the park. It’s possible he lives there but the police found nothing when they canvassed.”

  “This helps, though. Now we have a name. You need to get to the police department and tell them to find Brent for questioning. I wasn’t able to get a last name. I think he must go by a few different names… It’s too muddy. But i
t should help them narrow it down when they talk to the landlord. I’ll call my guy at the PD and give him a heads up. Ask for Detective Radovich when you get there and tell him you’ve just been to see me. He’ll know what to do,” I say.

  Goosebumps flash up and down my body and the last thing I want to do is follow the line of energy further.

  I hate people.

  I hate knowing good people turn bad. Bad people pretend to be good.

  I hate knowing sometimes there’s nothing I can do to stop bad things from happening.

  And if they don’t hurry, bad things are definitely going to get worse.

  Chapter 2

  I WISH I COULD SHUT MY MIND the hell up sometimes. Instead, my thoughts refuse to stray far from the couple who came in earlier in the day and the little girl still missing. I gotta know if they’ve raided the apartment building yet. Has the detective been able to ascertain anything useful? Did they find the girl? During the slower moments of my day, I reach out, trying to sense what’s happening, but nothing is certain. I take it as a sign things are more complicated than anyone would like.

  In all honesty—if it wasn’t about a child, I couldn’t care less. But as much as I hate to admit it, there are actually some things in this world that can melt this ice-queen’s heart. Even though I’ve never had any of my own, kids hurt or missing happen to top the list.

  After a long day of saying most of the same old bullshit over and over—because, let’s face it, most humans aren’t all that complicated—Renaldo finally manages to cut off the stream of those wishing for a word.

  “I ordered those chains and whips,” he grins enthusiastically, clicking the deadlock into place. “They’ll be in on Thursday.”

  His perfectly plucked eyebrows wiggle in rhythm with his butt.

  I shake my head and grin. At least he’s able to be upbeat.

  “Whatever you say. I trust your judgement with all this nonsense,” I say, walking back into my reading room. He follows as I grab my previously soaked stocking off the radiator and pull it over my foot. “Thanks for doing it, though. Do you have any plans tonight?”

  Renaldo sighs dramatically.

  “Oh, I wish. We’ll probably be staying in with a bottle of wine and Netflix on the ready. Again. How about you?” he asks, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

  “Absolutely nothing, and it’s going to be glorious,” I say, exhaling.

  “Any news on the little one?” Renaldo says, his tone edging on serious, as he scrunches his nose and squints nervously my direction.

  I shake my head.

  “Nothing yet but give it time. The police are on it,” I say.

  “Yeah, ‘cause they’re so great at finding the bad guys these days,” he snickers. “That’s gotta be hard for you—knowing bad things are happening or could get worse—and not being able to personally intervene. At least, not without going all vigilante.”

  Images of Batman flash through my mind.

  My eyes widen and my lips purse to cut off a snicker. As much as I say I hate the mundane bullshit most days bring, he’s right. I hate knowing when something is really wrong and not being able to step in. Turning it over to the authorities can be one of the most difficult things to do. But then again, I’ve seen what happens the other way around, too.

  “Yeah, it pretty much sucks,” I finally admit. Biting my lip, I cast my gaze to the floor.

  “Hey, you could become a superhero or something. Can I make a costume? Ooooh, tights. A cape,” he says, clapping.

  “M’kay, on that note… See you tomorrow, Ren. On time, this time. Yeah?” I say, quirking a smile.

  I catch his gaze, then lower my eyebrows and squint at him, knowing it will make absolutely zero impact.

  “You bet, super boss o’ mine,” he tips his chin, grinning sheepishly.

  “Thanks for closing up shop,” I say, casting a final wave.

  “Oh, wait. That’s my job?” he says in mock surprise, fingertips pressing against his chest.

  “Goodnight,” I call out without another glance back.

  I slip out the back door of the small cottage I rent as my place of occupation and take in the aroma of dusk. There’s a magic in the air during these twilight hours. This is my favorite time of day. The earth’s scent is sweet, and the cool breeze of evening is starting to settle in. It’s similar during dawn, but there’s something enchanting about the coming of night and the rising of the moon.

  The beautiful crescent is already peeking through the clouds, and acknowledging it makes me smile.

  “Waxing phase,” I mutter to myself.

  Just a week and a half to the full moon.

  I like to keep tabs on where the moon phase is. It helps me to orient myself to the cycles of nature. Besides, it’s kind of my job as a psychic, I suppose. There are plenty of people who have expectations of such things, as dorky as it might sound. All it takes is one Wiccan to walk in and ask when the best moon phase is for starting a ritual or some damn thing. Besides, there are instances where moon placement truly is crucial.

  Already, the energy of the moon pulls on me… but the last full moon’s events seep in, dragging on my already burdened mind and I wish I could release them and be done with it. My body tenses with the anguish tied to the memory of that night. It certainly didn’t go as planned.

  Mental note—I better check in with Demetri again.

  I wish he’d answer my damn calls. We never should have attempted diverting the damn Violet Flame invocation…

  Talk about stupid.

  “This is ridiculous, Diana. It’s happened—there’s nothing you can do now,” I whisper to myself.

  Taking a deep breath, I press onward.

  The walk home is surprisingly enjoyable, despite the cooler, early February air. Could certainly be worse. I could be in one of those godforsaken places where the wind hurts your face and white shit covers the ground this time of year. I’ve never figured out what would drive a person to live where there’s seven months of snow. Who signs up for that willingly?

  Shuddering to myself, I pass the neighborhood park where kids are still out and about, squealing as they chase one another. Ordinarily, I would continue to hurry on my way so I can wrap myself in the silence of my living room. But today, I stop and really watch—my eyes scanning the children playing and running about.

  Casting my gaze to the tufts of brownish green grass and puddles, I can’t help but see the little girl’s face. The family never divulged a photo, but I didn’t need it. She’s as clear to me as if she were standing beside me. Her bright brown, inquisitive eyes are what haunt me most.

  I’ll check back in with Detective Radovich when I get home.

  Turning on my heel, I pull my sweatshirt a bit tighter. Before I know it, I climb up the front steps to my small, but adorable house. You’d think it was a granny’s house from the outside, but I don’t care. I love the pink embellishments, and ornate ironworks. They remind me of something I can’t quite put my finger on. Perhaps it simply reminds me every day the universe is still a mystery on some levels—even to me. Because why else would those two things ever go together?

  With my key in hand, I reach for the door, only to have the handle ripped from my grasp. As the intruder flings open the door, he pushes me aside with a sweep of his broad arm. I slam hard against the iron railing adorning the front stoop, and pain radiates from the middle of my back, down my left leg. Oddly enough, I get no impression of who he is—nothing about him at all, as I instantly push my abilities out in search of who the hell would be in my damn house without permission.

  Nothing. A big fat zilch.

  Twisting around, I catch a glimpse of him before he disappears from sight. I might not be able to ID him with my gifts, but I recognize his perfectly shaped ass as it runs away.

  It’s the same damn guy from this morning. Clearly, he has a thing for trying to topple me over.

  Wow. I’m really off my game.

  Either that, or he’s d
eliberately warded from me.

  Had I not been so preoccupied with my own thoughts, maybe I would have been able to do something to apprehend the dude. Then again, who expects someone to come bounding outta their house when they live alone?

  What in the hell could he possibly have been looking for?

  Truthfully, nothing I own would be of any consequence to me if it were stolen—not being allowed to have a true past will do that to you, I suppose. However, the idea someone bothered to break into my house—and not just someone—the same guy who nearly knocked me into the street…now that makes me curious.

  I push forward, gaining a more solid footing in my entryway and try to focus. The guy’s scent is familiar, but off somehow—like he’s tried to alter it with too much cologne.

  Pushing past the empty darkness as I attempt to play in his mind, I start seeing glimpses—flashes of knives—ancient ones with runes or something written along the side, an explosion—blood. Lots and lots of blood. The images are old, like they belong in an ancient memory; blurred and obscured. I take a deep breath, letting the world fall away.

  Reaching out with my all of my senses, I search the impending darkness as it threatens to consume me for going where I’m not wanted. A moment later, the door to the memories slams shut. My abilities shut down, and I’m left grasping nothing but air—like every time I try to access my own damn memories. But it’s never happened when I try to read someone else’s.

  Interesting.

  I look down the road, trying to get another glimpse of the man—only to find myself dizzy and disoriented. Stumbling myself inside, I close my door, and have a seat on the couch. The exertion it takes to really dig in—it’s almost too much at times. Especially when the impressions are blocked.

  Once the room stops spinning, I stand up and make my way slowly to the small kitchen. It’s barely big enough to open the cupboard doors without smacking into the other side, but I sorta love the coziness of it. I open the refrigerator, clutch the chocolate bar I’d been saving for when I’m PMSing, and rip open the wrapper. I need to get my blood sugar back up and this is as good a way as any. Besides, it has caramel in it, so ya can’t beat that.