Convincing You (Sensing Series Book 2)

by J. M. Adele

  For a fraction of a second, his face morphed into that of Reginald Fortescue the Third’s. If I’d had a mouth, I would’ve gasped. I certainly recognised his acrid vibrational signature. But the young man was from a different time.

  I pulled back again, feeling like a whisk had reached inside me, twisting me into knots. Reaching for Jess’s energy, I tried to regain equilibrium.

  I was from a different time.

  Was this some sort of timeline warp? Had we crossed an impenetrable divide?

  The scene continued to play out. The man climbed over her. Jess’s eyelids peeled back. He beat her as he forced himself inside. Blood ran from her skin as his teeth sank in too deep. Vomit spilled around the gag in her mouth as her throat surged. Her face turned dusky pink before going a horrible tinge of purple blue. She choked on her own vomit. The dip at the base of her neck stopped pulling in with each breath. There were no more breaths. She was dead. And still he pumped in and out like an animal determined to get what he came for.

  The scene changed. It was dark. The man had driven into ... where?

  Mount Archer National Park.

  The answer crossed my awareness.

  He took Jess from the car boot and hauled her sheet-covered body over his shoulder. Tossing a lighter onto the seat, flames burst to life, spreading across the leather of the Mercedes. He ran through the scrub, surprisingly fast considering the weight he carried. There were no signs or walking trails around. This was a remote part of the mountain. The part cars drove through, giving no thought to stopping.

  He travelled far from the road until he found a hollow tree stump a foot taller than he. Beside it was another truncated tree, this one much shorter. It was the perfect step. He heaved himself up, jostling Jess on his shoulder. Tipping her body into the log, her hair hung down to reveal that she’d been buried head first. Once he’d successfully stuffed her in, he gathered a pile of dry leaves and twigs and added the garnish to his creation.

  Looking back towards the road, he watched the smoke rise and checked his watch. The fire spread quickly. He ran away from its advance, safely making it to a trail on the other side and jogging home from there.

  I remembered the fire at Mount Archer on the news. It had burned for hours, incinerating a large section of bush. And most likely Jess’s body. No evidence. No consequence.

  The scene went blank. Jess was no longer with me. My energy became dense as I prepared to re-enter my body. Andrea’s body.

  The realisation of pain was the first thing to enter my mind. My hearing picked up sounds of a man humming. I knew that song. That was Ben’s song. Our song.

  Ben! My baby!

  Air forced its way into my lungs and I struggled against it. My windpipe felt raw, like sandpaper had been dragged along its lining. Frantic beeping timed my distress.

  People surrounded me, strangers talking at me. A tube slid from my mouth. I wanted to gag and cough, but nothing was working. The taste of plastic coated my tongue. Struggling to breathe, or make a sound, I attempted to lift my hand. The message didn’t seem to travel from my brain to my muscles. I needed to sit up. Where was Ben?

  “Okay. It’s okay. Just breathe. You know how to do that. You’ve been doing it on your own for years.”

  The irritation in the back of my throat drove me mad until I managed to cough. I sucked in air and coughed again, doing this several more times before I could settle.

  “Ugh.” I lifted my heavy head. “Ben?”

  “Yeah, baby?” He came into view at the end of the bed. “I’m right here.”

  “Seb?” I croaked.

  “He’s doing fine.” He smiled a weary smile.

  My head fell back and I let out a sigh. Thank God.

  I had so much to tell him. And all of it was completely insane.

  I decided to address something a bit simpler. “You need a shave.”

  He snorted and laid his head on my feet. “I know.”

  Andrea

  Brisbane, Australia

  15th of January, 2017

  Stepping over the threshold of our home for the first time in three weeks, my muscles practically sighed. Home. I was finally home with my family. Seb blinked at me before yawning as I carried him to the lounge room. This kid was love personified. Just looking at him had me walking a foot off the ground and my heart beating with purpose.

  “Hello, honey. Welcome home.” Mum came from the spare room to greet me.

  “Hi, Mum.” I hooked my free arm around her and gave her a squeeze. I hissed as my caesarean wound twinged, reminding me to take it easy.

  “Sit down. Relax. You’re going to be tired and sore for a while.” Guiding me to the lounge, she made me do as I was told. “Let me cuddle my grandson.”

  “But I only just picked him up.”

  “Yes, but you’ll have heaps of time with him. I’ve only got a couple of weeks.”

  I rolled my eyes, too tired to argue. She was right. I would have heaps of time to get to know my beautiful boy. She scooped him from my arms.

  “What about me? I’m leaving tomorrow.” Ben’s mum joined me on the couch, patting my knee.

  Hang on. Something was different. “When did we get a new couch?”

  She smiled. “They delivered it a couple of weeks ago. Do you like it? I helped him choose.”

  I spun to question Ben. “What happened to the old one?”

  All eyes turned on me, brows raised.

  Ben scratched his chin. “Ah ... your waters broke all over it.”

  “Oh.” My heart sank at the reminder of the blind spots in my life. The parts that I could never see in my mind’s eye. Memories lost, or time spent in limbo while I was ‘elsewhere’. I barely remembered the night I gave birth. I could hardly remember waking up after being in a coma. I did remember the doctor telling me I couldn’t conceive any more children. That stung. But the fact that I was alive at all soothed the pain. And we had Seb.

  The time between ... as Emmeline—I remembered all of it.

  Jess. I’d seen Jess.

  I gasped as the vision I’d been shown played back on fast forward. “Oh my God!”

  “What?” All three of them crowded me, worry on their faces.

  “I have to ring Stew.”

  “Why?”

  “I know where to find Jess’s bones.”

  _____

  Andrea

  Brisbane, Australia

  18th of January, 2017

  Stewart’s name flashed across the screen of my mobile. I snatched it off the coffee table and hit the answer button before wedging it between my neck and shoulder.

  “Hey.” Patting Seb’s back, I waited for a burp.

  “Hey, sis. How ya goin’?”

  “Great. Tell me what you’ve got.”

  He laughed. “Straight to the point. Okay. We found the bones exactly where you said they’d be. They’re doing DNA tests to identify the remains. I doubt they’ll find any clues about the killer, or how she died.”

  “They might.”

  “Unlikely, given the fire damage and the length of time passed. They took the stump away for testing, too. The burnt-out car was removed long ago. We’re still tracking where it was discarded.”

  Damn. “I saw his face. He was in his twenties, early thirties at a push. Muscle-bound.”

  “Hell of a lot of miners and sports nuts around here, sis. They all fit that description.”

  “Yeah, damn.” I moved the phone and stretched my neck to release a cramp.

  “Maybe we could hook you up with a police sketch artist?”

  “Good idea.”

  “All right. I gotta go. Let me know if you remember anything else, ya weirdo.”

  “Hey, I’m helping your arse.”

  “Yeah, I know. Love ya.”

  “Love you too, Spew.”

  “Oi.”

  I hung up, giggling.

  My brother, the cop. Still a bogan.

  Rubbing Seb’s back, I finally got a burp out of hi
m. And it was huge, vibrating through my neck. “Ooh, Daddy would be proud of that one.”

  Holding him was the most amazing feeling, like I was full—overflowing with joy. I cherished him even more because I’d had to leave another baby boy behind. The loss of him and of my life as Emmeline was real and raw in the forefront of my thoughts. The thought of baby Ben made me hold Sebastian even tighter. The kid was going to get sick of me smothering him all the time. I wish I knew what had happened to Benjamin Sebastian Lovatt.

  Why can’t I find out?

  I took Seb with me to the spare room, grabbing his bouncer on the way. Parking him next to the desk, I fired up the computer.

  How the hell would I do this?

  I didn’t know the first thing about searching for a person born that long ago. I’d had trouble finding my keys every damn day since waking up—how was I supposed to do something like this?

  Did I just type in his name?

  At least I had his name, and his date and place of birth.

  I typed in, how to find a person born in 1868. Google spat out heaps of suggestions about births, deaths, and marriage registries.

  Of course.

  With a little creativity and by following the strings, I found the record of his birth. But how did I track him from there?

  “Oh, my God. I’m such an idiot.”

  I had a friend who was a librarian. Why the hell hadn’t I asked her first?

  I picked up my phone and dialled.

  “Andy? You okay?”

  “Hi, Ronnie. I’m fine, but I could use your help.”

  “I don’t know how to change nappies.”

  “Luckily, I do. This problem is more in your comfort zone.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Do you know how to search for someone who was born in the eighteen hundreds?”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Name. Birthdate. Birthplace. I want to know where he went from there.”

  “Ah, okay. Yep.”

  “Yep?” I sat up straight, clutching the phone.

  “Yep. Give me what you’ve got and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Oh my God. You’re the best. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After spilling all the information I could remember in a rush, I ended the call, giddy with elation. I would never be able to hold him, but knowing what had happened to him would mean the world to me.

  There was someone else I needed to know about. Sebastian Lovatt. As Emmeline, I had been told that they’d sent him away on a convict ship. To Australia!

  I typed in, how to find a convict.

  There was a website made for what I wanted. Convict.com.au.

  Perfect.

  He’d left in 1867.

  There were two voyages in 1867. The Norwood and the Hougoumont. But the Norwood left in April, and we’d run away in July, so that wasn’t the one.

  He must’ve sailed on the Hougoumont. The last convict ship to arrive in Australia.

  I scrolled through the list of passengers. Oh, God. There he is.

  Clicking on his name, another page opened with more details of his life.

  Name. Aliases. Gender.

  Birth. Occupation. Death.

  My lips parted. He’d died on the 9th of March in 1883, aged thirty-three. What would have been his son’s fifteenth birthday.

  I slapped a palm over my mouth, leaning back in my chair as I lost him all over again.

  Oh, Sebastian.

  I trembled, my stomach twisting like rope.

  As content as I was, the wound left by the loss of Benjamin and Sebastian Lovatt would never heal. A waterfall of tears kept me company and drowned my sorrow.

  The website didn’t say how he’d died.

  The last bits of information were the details of his transportation and conviction.

  Horse thief.

  Twenty years.

  Bastards.

  I didn’t want to search for the earl. I only hoped he was rotting in hell.

  Unwillingly, I pictured his face. Seeing it stabbed a sharp blade through my heart. The image warped into that of a young man. Jess’s killer. He stared at me with a crooked smile. I know that face. Where the fuck do I know it from?

  I held the profile in place, an image on pause burning into the screen.

  My eyes peeled open as my jaw dropped.

  I lurched forward to punch in another search, this time going to my high school’s Facebook page. I clicked through the photos from when I was a student.

  Seb started to cry, so I picked him up before resting him against my chest. “Shh, sh, sh. It’s okay.”

  I kept clicking.

  Whoa. Hang on. Go back.

  There was an album of photos from a sausage sizzle fundraiser. In the background of one photo, a guy wielded a pair of tongs, cooking sausages on a barbie.

  Fuck, that’s him.

  He wore a high-vis, fluorescent yellow shirt, and a wide brim straw hat.

  I made one more call.

  “Hey, sis.”

  “It’s the fucking groundsman.”

  Andrea

  Brisbane, Australia

  20th of January, 2017

  Ushering Ronnie in, I hurried back to a screaming Seb.

  “What’s wrong with him?” She put her bag on a dining chair before tossing an envelope on the table.

  “He’s waiting for his bottle.” I measured the scoops of formula and twisted the cap back on before shaking it up.

  “Ah.” Lifting her chin, she moved towards the blanket where Sebastian squirmed and kicked in protest. “Are you starving?” She pulled up her skirt before kneeling down.

  Seb stopped, turning his head.

  “Oh, who is this strange person?” Tickling his belly before picking him up, she made a funny face.

  “You can feed him.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t know how.” She gritted her teeth, frantically shaking her head.

  “It’s easy. Sit on the couch. Put him in the crook of your elbow.”

  Her mouth twisted as she frowned, hesitating. Unleashing another scream, Seb convinced her to follow my instructions. I stacked a couple of cushions under her arm to support his weight.

  “Now put the teat in his mouth. I already tested the temperature. It’s ready to go.”

  “Okay. If you say so.”

  Sebastian sucked his milk, eyes rolling back in his head.

  “Ooh, you were starving.” She laughed at him before looking up at me. “Go read your search summary. I didn’t do a full report. I can if you want though.”

  “Thank you so much for helping me find him.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were researching Ben’s family history.”

  What?

  My gaze shot to hers before I sat, grabbing the envelope and ripping it open.

  Benjamin Sebastian Lovatt

  Born - 9th of March, 1868 in Hampshire, England

  Mother - Emmeline Louisa Beauchamp, seventeen years

  Father - Sebastian William Lovatt, eighteen years

  Guardian - Marybeth Amalie Hutch

  Marybeth, you beautiful woman. She’d done as I’d asked, surpassing her role as loyal servant. She’d always be my friend.

  No formal education

  Worked as a stable hand on Beauchamp Estate until July, 1888

  Farrier for Holdsworthy Stud from August 1888 to December, 1896

  December, 1896 to September, 1897. A period of nine months where he didn’t appear to be employed.

  Travelled to Sydney on The Iris, September 1897, arriving January, 1898

  Settled in Rockhampton, August, 1898

  Oh! My baby had come looking for his daddy. My muscles tensed and I slid forward to the edge of my seat.

  Worked as a jackeroo on Lewis Station, August, 1898 to 1915

  Married Geraldine Martha Hunter, May, 1900

  Two children - Henrietta Martha Lovatt, born 6th of February, 1901, and June Louisa Lovatt, born 12th of Apr
il, 1902

  Died 13th of August, 1915. Cause of death: crush injury (trampled by bull stampede)

  “Bull stampede. God, how horrific.” My baby. Nausea curdled in my gut as I blinked away tears.

  “Yeah. I didn’t add in the rest of the family history because you only asked for info about his life specifically. But I can tell you his girls went on to marry. The youngest one married a Locke and gave birth to Ben’s grandfather.

  “So Benjamin Lovatt is Ben’s great-great-grandfather?”

  “Yup.”

  “Holy shit.”

  I’d slept with my husband’s great-great-great-grandfather.

  My eyes sprang open even wider when I realised something else.

  Emmeline was his great-great-great-grandmother.

  But that wasn’t all. I’d recognised Ben when we’d met. I’d known him because we’d been in each other’s lives before.

  Ben Locke and Sebastian Lovatt were one and the same.

  Our souls wove through time in a loving dance, drawn together again and again.

  As I scanned Ronnie’s features, I understood that Ben wasn’t the only soul I’d crossed lives with.

  Marybeth.

  Whoa.

  Sebastian

  Rockhampton, Australia

  18th of December, 1882

  The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves announced my arrival into Rockhampton. The day was mine to do with as I pleased. A weekly occurrence I rarely took full advantage of. Today, I’d chosen to borrow my fellow worker’s steed to travel into town from Ironstone Mountain. Rockhampton post office was the address I’d listed on a letter sent to my father upon hearing of my employment at the mine. I decided to check if he’d replied.

  A bell rang on the door as I entered the small office.

  “Good day to you, sir.” The postmaster wiped a hand along his counter, watching me approach.

  “Good morning. Would you have any mail for a Sebastian Lovatt?”

  “Let me have a look for you.” He bent behind the counter and papers and boxes shuffled before he stood, holding an envelope. “I remember this now. It came about a month ago.”

  He placed the letter on the wooden surface. I picked it up. It was from my father. Fifteen years. It had been fifteen years since I had seen him.