The Nexus

by Gary M Martin

As soon as he touched the doorknob it hit him. It was as if magnetic waves of electricity raced through his hands and arms binding his hand to the metal doorknob. Pictures flashed through his mind like scenes from a movie.

  In his mind, he had seen a man. The man was tall and stately looking. He was well dressed. His hair cut short and neatly manicured. He was standing outside the front door, where Walter was now.

  The man took a small crowbar that he had been holding and began to work at the crack of the door until he had broken out enough of the frame so that the door came free of the lock. With an elbow, he pushed the door inward. Seeming to be satisfied with his work he turned and headed away from the house.

  Walter let loose of the doorknob and stumbled a step backward. He was momentarily lightheaded. He felt like he was losing his grip on reality. He was tempted to dart away. To run as far away as his legs would carry him. Instead, he leaned back against the house to recoup his composure.

  Walter stepped back into the house, his mind swirling. What was he to make of all these things that had flowed through his mind?

  “Where did you go?” The other officer had asked.

  “I…I had to get some fresh air.”

  “Yeah. I get it. The first time I saw a dead body was outside a convenience store. A man had been stabbed multiple times. There was a pool of blood around him and blood splattered on the asphalt. As soon as my mind registered what I was seeing “I ran to the side of the building and puked my guts up.”

  Walter nodded. “I’m okay now.” He walked back into the house as if slow walking through a dream. He wasn’t sure what he had seen. Was he having a psychotic break or was this a vision of sorts? At the time he wasn’t sure what to do with what he saw. Revealing the images in his mind would likely result in him being sent to see the department’s psychiatrist.

  Later, Walter learned more about the crime from a detective friend. He told Walter that for now they are ruling it a robbery gone bad. All the evidence pointed to it. The lock on the front door had been jimmied, drawers and closets had been ransacked, and an upstairs wall safe had been cut open by a cutting torch. The murdered woman was the wife of a successful businessman.

  The woman had not been molested. It seemed apparent that the only thing the intruder wanted was cash and goods. The woman, it was reasoned, surprised the burglar who either shot her in order to keep her quiet, or simply in response to being startled by her sudden appearance.

  The husband was always a suspect in matters like this, but so far there was no incriminating evidence pointing to him.

  The front door had already been examined for prints and other evidence, but nothing had turned up. Not including the officer’s prints nor the husband’s. The intruder had either worn gloves or wiped whatever he touched clean. Pictures had also been taken of the crime scene both for examination and in the event, they were ever needed in court.

  Walter had put the events of that day out of his mind when a day later, while perusing the local paper, he had seen a picture of the husband of the woman who had been killed. He almost spilled the coffee he had been drinking. He set the cup down carefully on the table. This was the man he had seen in his mind when he had touched the front doorknob of the house of the murdered woman.

  It was obvious to Walter that the husband was trying to make it appear that someone had broken into their home. He imagined that the husband had cut that hole in the safe himself, perhaps telling his wife that he had forgotten the combination. Or, maybe he had killed his wife first.

  Anything Walter had seen in his mind, however, would never hold up in court. He needed something tangible to offer up as evidence.

  He shook himself. What was he thinking? These were pictures in his mind. How could he simply accept that they were true? It could be that the head injury he had suffered in his auto accident was causing him to be delusional.

  He almost dismissed the whole thing. Why should he take a chance of losing his job? No one would hire a cop with mental problems. But what if this clairvoyance thing was real? Could he take the chance that a killer might get away scot-free if he ignored whatever this was?

  He quickly decided he needed to revisit the house. If he could touch the knob one more time he might come up with more answers.

  The crime was two days old when Walter had stepped over the yellow police tape and walked to the front door of the house. He had been dressed in his police uniform so it was unlikely anyone would think anything about him going up to the door. Even so, he had looked about to make sure no other police car was passing by.

  He paused at the front door with tangled emotions. He had felt that he needed to touch the doorknob to see if anything else would be revealed to him. On the other hand, he felt rather foolish and wanted to turn back around and forget the whole issue. But he was already here.

  He took a deep breath and reached out to the door.

  Nothing happened as he wrapped his hand around the knob. He felt disappointed. And foolish. Had he just imagined that whole string of images that had flashed through his mind? Maybe he wasn’t psychic, just psycho. Still, he couldn’t let this go that easily.

  He squeezed the knob a bit harder.

  Something. He saw movement like a slow-rolling fog across a lake in the early morning. He could make no sense of it.

  He tried to concentrate, to make something happen. It didn’t seem to be working. The fog continued to drift at a leisurely pace.

  He was on the verge of giving up when suddenly the fog began to break up, to dissolve. Then there was a figure. Nebulous at first, like a picture out of focus, then almost at once the figure began to clarify and came to life before him.

  It was the husband again. This time he was stepping out of his car. A big brown trash bin was in front of him. Just beyond that was a short, construction trailer. In big letters at the top of the trailer, it read: Boyer and Shayne general contractors.

  The man was wearing black gloves and holding a small, green trash bag. Though Walter couldn’t see through the bag he somehow knew that the gun was inside. The man dropped the bag into one end of the trash bin then strode to the other end where he took the gloves off and tossed them inside.

  The man climbed back into his car and Walter felt his heart sink. He was certain that the man had killed his wife and staged a robbery, but he still had nothing to tie the man to the crime. Unless the gun was registered to the husband. Which was extremely doubtful.

  The car began to pull away then abruptly stopped. The man pushed the door open and got back out of the car. He was holding the crowbar that he had evidently used on the front door of his house. Apparently, he had almost forgotten to dispose of it along with the other evidence.

  He left the car door open and stepped back over to the trash bin. He threw the crowbar into the container. It landed close to where he had dropped the gloves. He quickly got back into his car and left.

  The scenes—like a running movie in Walter’s mind—began to crumble rapidly away into nothingness. He removed his hand from the doorknob and straightened up. He felt drained as though the energy had been literally sucked out of him. His mind was heavy as if he had just awakened from a dream.

  He didn’t believe that there would be any other sightings in his mind regarding this case. It was a feeling he had deep inside that he couldn’t explain. But it felt certain. It was a feeling that he immediately accepted. He didn’t think he needed any more visions. He thought he had seen enough.

  For a few minutes, he considered what he should do. He couldn’t tell his commander what he had seen in a vision. It was doubtful that he would be taken seriously. It was more likely that he would be sent to the department’s psychiatrist. Worst case he would lose his job because of this.

  Assuming he wasn’t having some psychotic break, where did this strange power come from?

  That question brought to mind something. Not long ago he had been flipping channels on the television set searching for something interesting to watch when he ca
me across a show about paranormal kids. In the show, two of the kids noted that their ability to see the dead had started shortly after they had almost died themselves.

  Their story sounded similar to his. He couldn’t see the dead. At least, he didn’t think so. But he did almost die from his head injury. Could this be the reason for his unusual ability?

  Even if these visions were a hundred percent accurate it was still unlikely that anyone would believe him. He had to go another way. He would have to report what he saw anonymously, as though he had firsthand knowledge and not as one who had seen the incident unfold in a vision.

  Later that evening he drove to a convenience store where there was one of the few remaining payphones. It was in a booth just outside the store on the far end of the building.

  He called the police precinct that was handling the case. When a policeman answered he disguised his voice as best he could and began speaking rapidly, ignoring the man’s request for his name and location. He told the policeman that he had seen a man (with his eyes, of course, not in his mind like what really happened) dropping a gun, a crowbar, and a pair of gloves in a trash bin. He then stated that he thought the items had been used in a murder. He mentioned that in hopes that the cops would be extra careful not to contaminate possible evidence. When the policeman asked him about the location of the trash bin, he quickly stated that it was at a Boyer and Shayne construction site, then hung up. If the site was within the city, it shouldn’t take them long to find the place.

  It was in the late evening when cops found the right trash bin. As it turned out there were two Boyer and Shayne construction sites within the city, and each site had two bins each. Luckily, they didn’t give up until they found the incriminating articles.

  As Walter had hoped the police took extra care in removing them, and for their reward they were able to pull a good print off the crowbar. With the print matching that of the husband, they were able to piece together a good scenario of what had happened.

  What they needed was a solid motive to present to the district attorney before he would seek an indictment. That proved to be a rather easy task.

  Delving into the husband’s personal life it was quickly uncovered that he had a bad gambling problem and had racked up a substantial debt to some unsavory people. It seemed a rather good assumption that he had planned to use his wife’s insurance money to pay off his account.

  When the husband was finally charged, he reacted as though he were actually relieved. Since his wife’s insurance money would be held up for a considerable amount of time pending an investigation he began to fear for his life from illegal, somewhat dangerous, debt collectors. Prison began to seem like a safe haven for him.

  More visions followed Walter, but none were as powerful, or as poignant as his first venture into the realm of the supernatural.

  The visions always began with him touching an object. Then something new. Something different from his initial introduction. A shock, like a low voltage streak of electricity raced through his body. At first, it scared him, but over time and multiple visions he gradually accepted it as part of this ‘gift’. Then the pictures. Sometimes they were snapshots. Sometimes they were short, silent movies. Sometimes they immediately made sense. Sometimes they were complete puzzles that he had to figure out over time. Why these things happened as they did, he could not ascertain. One thing was constant; however, the visions only came in conjunction with whatever case he was involved in.

  He had walked half of the trail scanning the beautiful landscape. Several times he thought he had found what he was looking for, but upon further examination, it proved not to be the picture he had seen in his mind.

  More than once he was struck by the magnificence of his surroundings. Trees, like giant soldiers, stood proud and majestic, reaching upward toward the sky. Outside the shadow of the trees, the foliage grew thick. Wildflowers, as well as the more conventional flowers, bloomed in an array of dazzling colors. Placards stood in front of them announcing their names as well as a bit of history about them.

  His surroundings were a reminder of how different the town of Nexus was from his former world of Folsom.

  He had grown tired of the fast pace and all the serious crimes that were constantly popping up. He needed a break, and though he had bittersweet memories of Nexus this was still his home. It was where he grew up. But, of course, time had its say. A couple of years ago his parents had moved to Chicago. The corporation his dad worked for had sent him there to run one of their offices. His brother, his only sibling, had joined the army and was currently stationed at a base in Germany.

  He still had some good friends here so that also made his decision to move here a lot easier.

  His transfer to the Nexus Police Department was a cut in pay, but with only himself to support it didn’t prove to be a problem. Nor was there a problem in the hiring. Walter had great credentials as an investigator, especially since the inception of this special power of his. He had begun to call it his gift.

  Looking back, returning to Nexus was one of the best decisions he could have made. He had met a wonderful lady. Not that he had been looking for anyone. It was just one of those weird circumstances that make you wonder if there really is something to this belief in fate. Or perhaps it was God looking out for him though he didn’t know what he had done to deserve such a favor.

  It was on a day when he was making one of his frequent visits to the town of Smokey Hill, about thirty-five miles north of Nexus. His main attraction was a bookstore named Paper Trail.

  The Paper Trail was more than just a bookstore. It sold other types of media products such as CD’s, DVD’s, copy paper, notebook paper, and an array of writing instruments. It also contained a small coffee shop.

  On this particular morning, he had gone to the coffee shop first before looking at the books. The coffee shop usually got good business, but they were never crowded. On this morning, however, the three tables were full and there was only one vacant spot and it was at the end of the counter.

  Next to the one vacant stool was a young brunet. She looked to be in her mid to late twenties.

  Walter walked over to the one empty seat. “Good morning,” he had said to the lady. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “No. Have a seat.” She smiled and he was instantly captivated.

  As he sat down, he noticed a book on the counter in front of her.

  “Criminal ways,” he said aloud.

  “Yes, have you read it?”

  “Yes. A professor Grayson Graham book. I think I’ve read all his books. This one, though, is probably his best.”

  She raised her eyebrows slightly. “Wow, that’s good to know. So, you must have some special interest in criminology.”

  “I guess you could say that.” He paused a moment. “I’m a detective for the Nexus police department.”

  “Well, then we have something in common.”

  “We do?”

  “I’m with the FBI.”

  “Is that right? I’m impressed. And a little bit intimidated.”

  She laughed warmly. “I’m sure what you do is just as impressive as what I do. Maybe more so.”

  “I kind of doubt that,” he said lightheartedly. He extended his right hand. “I’m Walter Jackson.”

  She smiled. “I’m Candace Caine,” she said as she shook his hand.

  Walter grinned.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Candy cane. My dad had a rather unique sense of humor.”

  He laughed, and it felt good. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed and felt so good about it.

  They talked briefly about law enforcement, then somehow, they agreed to meet for dinner the coming weekend. Walter couldn’t remember who initiated the decision.

  That weekend as they sat at a quaint little restaurant Walter found that it was very easy to talk to Candace. It was as if he had known her for a very long time. He had begun to have feelings stir within him. Feelings that he hadn’t had in a while. That
scared the hell out of him.

  They grew close in a very short time. He found her easy to talk to. Beautiful and easy to talk to had been a combination that he rarely found.

  He had nearly walked through the entire park and was beginning to get frustrated when something caught his attention. To his right the land was overcome with matted Kudzu that swept upward as the ground rose sharply at nearly a ninety-degree angle for about sixty feet, abruptly ending as the ground leveled off to a wide rocky shelf of land. From what he could see there was not much there except for a single tree. It was a short Sweetgum. This Sweetgum tree was like the one he had seen in his mind when he shook the hand of the rookie policeman.

  The reason the tree had stuck so securely in his mind was its rather unusual shape. The tree had risen straight up for about five feet. But then nature dealt it a strange blow. Instead of proceeding straight up, the tree split into two trunk lines that grew at a slight angle to frame an almost perfect V.

  Staring at it now he wondered what was so special about it, besides the fact that it resembled a peace sign. Why had this tree been planted in his mind? What significance did it hold?

  Sometimes he really hated this so-called ‘gift’. More often than not there were puzzles to figure out. Puzzles. He hated the puzzles. He just wished that this clairvoyance—psychic energy or whatever the term was—would spell out what it wanted to tell him in big bold letters before his eyes and dispense with all the mental games.

  To be honest he was somewhat embarrassed by these psychic pictures that he sometimes received. He couldn’t stand the thought that people might laugh at him behind his back. That was the primary reason he had told no one about these mental images of his. Especially not Candace. He didn’t want her thinking that he was some kind of kook.

  There were also the legal problems this could cause, considering that many of his cases had been solved by this power of his. This could be chaos. Any criminal case he had been involved in would be up for review.

  For several minutes he stood there nonplused. This was not an area he could easily explore. Nor could he use his influence to have people and equipment brought here to search the area. There would be too many questions that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, want to answer.