Gypsy Hunted: a psychic paranormal book with a touch of romance (The Gypsy Medium Series 1)

by Andrea Drew

  “Well, I have some kind of…ability.”

  Connor’s chin rested on one hand now, his attention riveted. “Go on…”

  “Things happened to me as a girl. They freaked my parents out, scared them, so I switched them off. Er…they kind of …came back when I was a teenager.”

  “What kind of things? I bet you got a bit of attention back then, all sweet smiles and bright eyes.” He reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind my ears and I sucked in a breath, as quietly and unobtrusively as I could.

  Oh, God, this was embarrassing and amazing all at once. How the hell do I play this romance thing again?

  Against my better judgment, I blushed. Goddamn it. Embarrassment, caused from not only the fact that my telepathic secret was out, but because of him, his attention…his everything. I couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than having my red face on display. Lost for words, I waited for my blistering cheeks to calm down a bit before continuing. However, Connor spoke first.

  “It’s okay, Gypsy. I’m not going to laugh at you, far from it.” Connor leaned in with his elbows on the table, eyes never leaving mine.

  Not only was he stunningly handsome, he seemed gentle. Then again, they all did at first. I wondered where the hell this seemingly perfect man came from. Maybe he was a dodo, the last of an extinct breed.

  “I can talk to people without saying anything, without them even being in the same room. It took me a while to realize that most of them were …well, technically dead. The only living person I can ‘speak’ with is my niece, Renee. Definitely saves a lot of time and effort.” I managed a hesitant smile as my gaze dropped to my heels. He was so startlingly good looking that I was nervous of him catching me staring. Like gobbling too much candy, it felt great, but was ultimately risky. Please let this one be the one and not like my last failed relationship. After four years, that one had broken my heart, and I’d later discovered he’d hooked up with a female friend of his bestie, Jack, within a month of our break up. He’d definitely moved on, although I’d struggled and remained single for a bit less than a year. I tried not to acknowledge that he’d possibly had both of us on a string.

  Connor cleared his throat, bringing me back to the present. I decided to press on.

  “These talks started early on as a child. Later on, I helped friends out with a few things, clearing ghosts from friend’s places. You know, the classic ghost buster thing, and word started to spread. I can’t just switch it on and off whenever I want to. It happens when it happens…”

  “So you’re a woman of many talents, then. You know, I’ve heard people say that before about this type of thing. It’s not like a tap. I reckon there are plenty of us worried about family, wanting to be sure that they’ve moved on, are free of pain… I sure think about my brother…”

  “You lost your brother? I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Yeah, my brother, Dan, died in an explosion. He was Aaron’s dad and he also had a daughter, Christie. You might have heard it in the news, Melbourne courthouse. He was also part of the force.” Connor brought a shaking hand to his forehead, his voice wavering slightly. “Rae, Dan’s wife, never really got over it and the kids also took it pretty hard.” Connor twisted the absent ring on his finger as he looked across at Aaron. “My wife, Jill, and I, took both of them in to live with us a year later. It was a bit rough at times, but what family doesn’t have problems? Jill and I tried, but we could never have kids of our own.” The skin bunched up around Connor’s eyes, and one of his hands moved closer to Aaron before he quickly retrieved it. Aaron, who was nodding and tucking his hands behind his elbows, was having a rather stilted conversation with Matthew.

  The waitress brought our meals over, silencing us. Connor had ordered a steak with all the trimmings, definitely a positive sign. A vegetarian could have been tedious.

  After many delicious bites in an already comfortable silence, we took up where we left off.

  “So, a detective,” I said. “I haven’t met one of those before. Have you been in the force for long?”

  “Twelve years.”

  I wondered what twelve years in the force had been like and if he enjoyed his work.

  He smiled slowly, but his shoulders slumped as he sagged back in the chair. “People ask me about the job and if it was a deliberate choice. I’m not sure what the short answer to that is. Some people say it’s a duty, and that is part of it. It’s not glamorous, with far too much paperwork for that. You see people at their worst, which was a bit of a shock in the early days. After that, I’ve never been surprised by what people do. On bad days, I tell myself I’m giving victims a voice.”

  His smile wavered as he waited for my reply, but for my part, I’d finished talking. I wanted to savor the chance to look at him under the pretense of listening intently.

  “Most people seem to think it’s like the cop shows, with the adrenaline rush of the investigation and kicking in doors, but I can’t remember how many times I’ve been beaten up, kicked, spat on, and shot at.”

  “Sounds like you should write a book.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I’m not interested, plus, I can’t write to save my life. Too busy doing what I do, I guess.” He poked at a slight indentation in the wooden table.

  A clang of glasses and a smash diverted all eyes to the bar, where a pretty, red-faced waitress smiled sheepishly. I looked across to see Aaron shaking Matt’s hand firmly. Aaron must have taken the handshake as his cue to leave. As he leaned to speak with his uncle, I got a whiff of something metallic and dusty, probably from the construction site he worked at.

  “Sorry, but I’m going to have to go. Early start tomorrow and it’s been a big day.” Connor slammed his hand into his nephew’s with a jerk.

  Was Aaron’s look questioning or a challenge?

  Connor released his grip and moved his chair back across the floor.

  “No problem, thanks for coming. Talk to you soon, buddy.” With a scrape of the chair, Aaron stood up and clumsily half-raised a hand in goodbye.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, waving my hand, and with that, he was gone.

  “Gypsy, I could talk to you all night, but…” Connor grinned so wide that his eyes narrowed, and he winked at me, “I better catch up with Matt for a bit, or he might get offended. Maybe when you’re in the area next, we could catch up for a coffee?” He pulled a card from his wallet and laid it on the table.

  A tingling sensation seized my chest and a tiny bead of sweat trickled down my back. I wasn’t sure if it was the wine or a stupid crush, but it sure felt good. I couldn’t remember the last time a man who took my fancy invited me out for coffee.

  Connor had already moved to sit by Matt.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  The legs of my chair scraped as I moved to stand up. I went to stand with my back to the fire, feeling the warmth spread from my hands held behind me through the rest of my body.

  Knowing Chloe and Rita, I was confident they wouldn’t be able to resist rushing over to get the inside skinny. Sure enough, in less than a minute, they were by my side, searching my face like a couple of puppies waiting for a juicy tidbit to be thrown their way.

  “Hey, Gyp, saw you got a business card. Geez, doesn’t take you long, girl. Hope you wore matching undies tonight.” Rita swigged down half a glass of wine in one gulp. Her narrow face was mocking me, as she rolled her eyes, set her wine glass on the shelf, and then pushed her hands out to warm them at the open fire.

  “Piss off, Rita, jealousy makes you ugly.” I lowered my chin to look at her, my feet apart in a fighting stance. Then, deciding to let it go, I turned to Chloe, who was struggling not to show her delight.

  “Do you good to get a bit of action,” she said. “Maybe there’ll be less moaning. If you actually crack a smile at the next book club, I’ll know why.”

  Chloe cackled and jabbed me with her elbow. I wished she wouldn’t do that. My skinny frame doesn’t do well when knocked, even in jest.


  “Seriously,” she continued, “I was hoping you’d come for this very reason. I’m glad you two hit it off.”

  “So this was a set up? For God’s sake, Chloe, no wonder things started off so awkward. You could have warned me—even if he is gorgeous.”

  She glared at me as her hands flew in the air. “Come on, Gyp, lighten up. Haven’t you heard the best thing for a break up is a rebound? It’s been nearly a year since Mark, so it is time to get out and test the waters. Are you telling me that if there was a nice, warm, manly body like Connor’s in bed that you’d kick him out? I doubt it.” Smiling, Chloe placed her hand lightly on my shoulder.

  My eyelids felt heavy and my energy was flagging. I was well past the nightclub era where I could stay out until dawn and bounce back for another eight hours of work.

  “Well, girls, I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, but thanks to your matchmaking service, it was a tad uncomfortable.” I crossed my arms and tapped my foot, before grinning, allowing my arms to fall.

  “I have to admit, though, he’s pretty damn charming and definitely a looker. It’s quarter past ten, well past my bed time, so I’ll be off now.” I hitched up my purple Louis Vuitton bag, which had been hanging annoyingly around my elbow, and threw a fifty-dollar bill onto the table, watching as it wafted down. Before I left, I whispered in Chloe’s ear, “Thanks, maybe, just maybe.”

  I gave a smile and a wave to Connor and Matt, promised Chloe I’d call her in a few days—which of course, she knew meant next month—and headed out the door. The smell of garlic and waves of laughter streamed behind me as the bell clanged its final goodbye. I turned off from the main drag, the satisfying clomp of my heels increasing my wine-imbued confidence, not to mention my happiness at a real life conversation with a hot looking someone of the opposite sex.

  I passed the park gates, complemented with replica eighteenth century lamps that I admired every time I walked past them. I loved living in Carlton. It is the hub of the world and close to the iconic Lygon Street, lined with Italian restaurants as far as the eye can see, neon lights flashing, chairs and tables spilling onto the pavement. Couples can be seen hand in hand, too much in love to care about sales staff approaching them to enlighten them on their menu, while hot rods roar along with their horns blaring.

  As I turned into a side street, my thoughts wandered. As I looked down the quiet residential street, lit softly by street lamps, I heard the rustling of wind in the trees and rattling of a rubbish bin in the dark alley to my left. It wasn’t bin night, so it must be cats fighting or someone getting rid of some junk.

  Wishing I’d remembered my glasses, I squinted as a commotion rose from further down the black laneway. There was a large van parked at the end and I could make out a figure loading something into it.

  In that instant, I felt a wave of energy, something steely hard and terrifying. I could almost see it, like a slab of granite leading from the van directly to me. I’d learned the hard way not to deny my instinct, and so I took a quick detour into the alley. This wasn’t the first time I’d acted in a mad rush of spontaneity. There was always the pepper spray in my bag if things got ugly. Besides, as my dad would say, no one would ever mug a woman like me. They would wait for someone else who was a lot less trouble. I was never sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, but at that moment, I didn’t give a toss.

  I cautiously stepped into the alley and became aware of the stillness. Not a soul was in sight. After a few steps, my foot struck an object in the dim shadows. As my eyes adjusted, I realized it was a rubbish bin, and a second later, it burst open with a clash.

  I jumped and whimpered as a black shape streaked across the alleyway. A loud wail followed the cat as it sped off into the night. I waited for my heart to stop pounding in my ears, and for my body to stop trembling. Committed now, curiosity piqued and propelled by the terror rushing from the vehicle, I continued walking to the end of the isolated laneway wondering what was causing the terror.

  I blew out a long breath, my feet continuing across on the cobblestones. Could the terror simply have been a cat?

  As I got closer to the van, I saw what had been a hazy darkness, perhaps a couple of rubbish bags. Lying beside the open van door was a young woman lying on the ground. Someone must have tried loading her into the van unsuccessfully. Long, straw-colored hair fell across her face. Her wrists were tied and her mouth was gagged with duct tape. She was struggling to make some semblance of noise. Her long legs kicked like hell at the air. Her eyes were huge like saucers, reflecting the terror rolling off her in huge swells.

  Something shifted in the blackness. As I tried to process what it was, it suddenly sprang from behind the van to offer me an up-close view. A man stood so near that his stinking, foul breath assaulted my senses. He towered over me in a dark hoodie, with his chest thrust forward, his elbows out. In the faint light of the streetlight in front of the alley, I could make out sandy hair. Other than that, his face was completely hidden by the head covering. His body carried a strange, unidentifiable smell, acrid and bitter.

  I was supposed to be terrified, but instead, I felt shut off from reality, almost numb. I needed to grab the can of pepper spray from my bag, but I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot. Realizing that someone had summoned me, sent me a communication in desperation for me to intervene and ease their terror, the reality of the situation hit me. I set my shoulders and with head down slightly, I stared down the faceless bastard getting in my way.

  “Fuck off, bitch...” he spat as I grabbed for my bag.

  He seized the girl, shoving her into the back of the van roughly. I pitched forward to stop him, but he shoved me back with more force than I’d anticipated. I rocked back on my heels, hands flailing wildly, and as he slammed the van door closed, I just managed to stay upright.

  My pulse was pumping madly, and the adrenaline had kicked in. I jumped at the sound of the engine starting. I ran for the front driver’s window, which of course, he had locked, and started bashing it with my fists, screeching.

  “Let her go! Let her go, you bastard!” I yelled so hard that a vein in my neck was pulsing and engorged.

  I stood in front of the vehicle, legs planted wide part. I realized that the bastard could get away with this unless I identified him somehow. My eyes went down to the license plate. I reached into my handbag for my mobile phone, realizing I should have done this earlier and made a damn call to the cops.

  He had gotten her into the van, but she wasn’t going without a fight.

  The woman had started banging with her feet, kicking the shit out of the van walls. I could almost see the outline of her foot bashing the thin metal veneer. With the key in the ignition, the man had turned up the radio to full blast, drowning out the noise of her screams and kicking.

  The abductor revved the crap out of the van, the engine growling so loudly that I felt it through my toes. Nevertheless, I stood my ground, even with nails biting into my palms, pulse speeding, and heartbeat pounding. I’d get his details through to the police if it was the last thing I did.

  I looked up to face him through the front window and the van launched at me. I dialed the emergency service number, holding the phone to my ear with fingers so rigid they hurt. The van came at me and in a split second, I was hit, my body bouncing off the van. My head took the brunt of the blow as I struck the brick wall, landing on the ground like a rag doll, unloved and discarded. Strangely, nothing hurt, at least, not at this moment, but I was sure that it should.

  Colors of green, hot pink, and yellow, flashed. Tires squealed, and I thought I heard frantic footsteps approaching.

  Then it was lights out.

  *****

  2

  I jolted awake to the pungent smell of bleach and antiseptic curling its tendrils up through my nostrils and into my mind. My hands were clammy and my lips were trembling, my breath bursting in and out in loud gasps. I attempted to sit up, only to find the left side of my body glued to the bed. As I sank back d
own, the plastic mattress cover rustled.

  Stretching my eyelids to their limit, I felt the right one give. The lid peeled apart slowly. This was usually the aftermath of a hangover, but usually the left one followed. Piercing sunlight lay on my right, perhaps a window. I couldn’t see it, but I was pretty sure that was the source of the malicious light.

  My stomach twisted as if it had been kicked, uneasiness at being in an unfamiliar room sending cool prickles over my clammy and sweaty skin. I squirmed in the bed. Had I been abducted? What happened to the girl last night? Was she alive? If so, then my kidnappers must be pretty damn tidy. Starchy, crisp sheets settled on my knees above and rubbed against the back of my legs. Lowering my chin, I caught a glimpse of heavy blankets, with clumsy lumps outlined beneath. It must mean my limbs were still attached. Some consolation, I guess.

  Along the sterile white walls, I saw a sink, oxygen mask, hazardous chemicals sign, and a dizzying array of other unidentifiable equipment. I laughed shakily, pressing a clammy palm to my chest, as I realized I was in a hospital. Thank God! Most likely, the doctors and nurses here would be of goodwill, although not always. I’d heard horror stories from friends with relatives who ended up in the hospital after car accidents, and ended up on a cocktail of psychiatric meds, becoming zombies beyond recognition. The theory would be tested soon enough when someone turned up.

  A metallic slimy taste filled my mouth. I needed water desperately. I tried to swing my left arm across my body, but couldn’t. Why the hell wouldn’t my arm move? An everyday action I barely thought about and I couldn’t bloody well do it. I tried the right arm and it lifted as if feather light, bringing a surge of relief. At least something worked. From outside the door came hushed voices and the quiet scuffle of what I could only assume were nurses’ shoes.

  I tried to speak. A pathetic parting of the lips ensued and no words came out at all, nothing but a slimy trail of spittle. I wiped it away with the back of the only wrist I could move, the hand scratching at my face on the way down. I couldn't speak. Oh, my God, how could this be happening? I shook my head and tried scooting my backside back up the bed to get into a higher position and watch what was happening. My attempt was in vain. I needed to be in control to some degree, but I wasn’t sure about my chances at the moment, although my dogged persistence had served me pretty well, up to that point. I wished I was up to screaming, but I felt so groggy and slow that it was totally beyond me. Instead, I keened silently within my head. This was too much, all too much. It couldn’t be happening.