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

by Andrea Drew

  “Where are the reports? This list...where did it come from?”

  “What reports? I don’t know what you mean!”

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Something inside him ruptured, sending acidic bile rearing up to burn him.

  He grabbed her throat, and the warmth as her body left the ground surged through his fingers. A kernel of fury germinated in the pit of his stomach. Her legs bashed against the wall. She grabbed at his face, fingers outstretched.

  Holding on tightly, he listened to the gurgling and waited until she stopped. He slowly released his grip, and she dropped like a bag of ball bearings, landing with a thud before her limbs spilled at awkward angles on the floor, mouth open, glassy eyes unseeing. He wiped his hands on his pants and stormed into the kitchen. There he ripped open doors from cabinets, dislodged drawers, smashing closets. It had to be here somewhere. He stormed from room to room, spilling cupboards, yanking drawers, eyes scanning frantically.

  The baby in the bedroom was screaming, his chubby hands grabbing the sides of the cot, a wet pink tongue protruding above two pearly buds of teeth.

  “Fuck,” he whispered to himself, the boy's screaming a ringing vibration shaking his skull.

  He stomped down the hallway. Stepping over the lifeless form, he made for the front door. As it slammed behind him, he stood on the front porch and scanned the darkness, planning his next move.

  10

  Five more minutes and he would be with Bailey. The lights from an oncoming car flashed past, a lighthouse in the gloom. Aaron hadn’t meant to hurt Tiran. It was an accident. He wondered how she’d greet him after four days away—more than likely with an avalanche of blame, shame, and regret. He really didn’t need more yelling and screeching. She wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and if he told her he wanted to take Bailey out for a drive, a father and son bonding session, she’d be satisfied. He forced his foot down on the accelerator, feeling his body roll as he took the corner hard, tires squealing.

  Aaron drove for what felt like hours but was only a few minutes, feeling the car roll around the corners, propelling him, carrying him to his home. His seat bobbed as he arrived and he felt the vibrations as the engine idled. He turned off the ignition key and looked up, waiting for the first twitch of the shades.

  The windows were lit up, curtains open, illuminating familiar territory. He waited for the usual routine when he arrived home, which didn’t come. Usually Tiran would either open the front door or have the porch light on when she heard his van pull up.

  He stepped up to the front porch, feeling the icy air whip across his cheeks. Bailey’s screams seared their way through the door.

  Which meant that either something had happened to Tiran or she’d left Bailey alone? Much as he resented her, he knew that wasn’t possible.

  His posture stiffened feeling the rigidity in his muscles. He shook his head.

  “No, no, not Tiran, not her,” he heard the shakiness in his voice.

  Who did this? When? Why?

  In the depths of numbness, he realized the jeopardy. Tiran had said someone was at the front door, a bloke in a blue car with dark hair.

  Some faceless cop identified only in the report. The list he read out to Tiran.

  Holy fucking hell.

  Of course, he’d be the prime suspect, the first one the cops would turn to as the bad guy. He was a bad guy. He had grabbed Jo off the street to start a new life he didn’t expect anyone to understand. Some dodgy pig was taking advantage, but not for long. He had gotten pretty good at tracking people down.

  He took a breath in and pulled out the key. The scream wasn’t a cry of need or hunger, but one of terror. It permeated the house, seeping into the walls. He hadn’t heard Bailey howl like that, not ever.

  As he pushed the front door open, the screaming became louder, more intense. Looking to the left, he saw her collapsed on the hallway floor. He ran to Tiran, landing on his knees heavily.

  “Tiran!” He fumbled for a pulse. Her skin felt cold and foreign. Aaron held his head in his hands, wailing as he rocked slightly.

  “Why did you let him in? Why?” He slowly stood on rubber legs to make his way to Bailey’s bedroom. He couldn’t ignore the screaming any longer. As he stomped through the hallway, he bashed on the walls with a curse.

  Seeing his father, Baily lifted his hands up, eyes red, begging to be picked up.

  He picked Bailey up, realized he needed a nappy change and grabbed clothes from the cupboards, stuffing them manically into a blue and green cloth bag, leaving the legs of a playsuit hanging out as he searched for a bottle and nappies. Drawers were flung across the room. Whoever it was, they’d been looking for something and needed it in a hurry.

  Like a smuggled report on police corruption.

  After hurriedly changing Bailey’s nappy, he flung the strap of the bag over his shoulder and stepped around the drawers. He had to get moving and fast. He stomped down the hallway.

  He wouldn’t be getting the department involved, DHS could go to hell. Once they knew, Bailey would be lost to him forever. He didn’t need stuffed shirts poking their nose in where it wasn’t needed. Bailey belonged with him and Jo. Once the department found out he’d smoked weed months ago, he’d never see his son again. Bailey was coming with him.

  Aaron paused for one last look before stepping over Tiran, whose open lips were changing color. He focused his thoughts on the here and now. He wiped one hand down his dirty jeans and made for the front door. Slamming it behind him, he adjusted his clothes, which could probably do with a change. He’d had other more important things on his mind. He felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stiffen. Time to strap Bailey in, change over the license plates and head back to Laverton. He’d been delaying the inevitable, but his hand had been forced. It was time for action, to return Connor’s calls.

  *****

  The stark rays pierced a gap in the curtains, the prisms waking her. Renee opened her eyes slowly, lashes batting her cheek. She looked around, wondering what was different. Listening carefully as she licked her lips, she felt her scalp prickle. Although there was no one here, she knew she was being watched. Something was wrong, very wrong. She lifted her arms above the covers, goose bumps forming.

  There was a pinging, an alarm bell going off inside, thoughts intruding that didn’t belong, malicious, lingering pictures of hurting, torturing, and smashing. The curly haired dirty man smashed a window at the side of a house, climbing through, brushing himself down. A dead woman lay hideously contorted on the ground as a baby screamed; sitting in a dirty smelly house talking to a man who looked like he needed a shower, making quiet evil plans.

  What was wrong with her? She threw back the covers, padding out of the room on slippered feet.

  The images persisted as Renee pulled open bedroom drawers, selecting clothes for the day. Thoughts like this originated from one source alone: her aunt. The pictures persisted, forcing their way in. They had weight and force, and she struggled to understand.

  Padding downstairs, she poured her breakfast cereal into a bowl and sat at the kitchen table, hoping the mundane and routine would help, but the pictures persisted. Her mind flashed scenes at her, flicking through at the speed of light.

  It was the man, the creepy man that followed her.

  A van was parked by the side of the road. The man was kicking the tires, his limbs flailing wildly, entire body jolting as he lashed out. Realization struck. The house the scary man was breaking into belonged to her aunt.

  That horrible, creepy, horrible man was searching for Gypsy, hunting her, sniffing her out, tracking her down.

  Oh God.

  The spoon fell, clanging onto the tiles. Milk spilled across the kitchen bench. Renee ran for her bedroom, where she rummaged through the wardrobe for her shoes. Sandals, sneakers, and boxes were sent catapulting onto the carpet beside her.

  She paused for a moment and looked at the mountain of shoes. There was
no way she could reach the hospital to warn Gypsy. Mum was out at her second job, Dad wouldn't be here for a couple of hours, and she had only a sketchy knowledge of the route.

  The spark of an idea formed, but could she do it? She at least had to try, knowing that if she didn’t, Gypsy might be hurt again.

  They had gotten into a routine. They usually only shared thoughts when touching, and always when they were in the same room, so this would be a first.

  The best place to try out her new abilities would be where she felt the most comfortable and relaxed: her bedroom.

  Pushing the wardrobe door back, she dodged the shoes, flung back the covers, and lay across the pink flannelette sheets, staring at the ceiling. She turned toward the window and snuggled down, tucking her left hand under the feather pillow.

  Renee closed her eyes and focused on slowing her breathing. Initiating the process felt like throwing out a line, a rope. When she was talking to Gypsy, sometimes the connection was so strong she could almost see the line, taut and electric, almost humming. With a bird's eye view, she looked over the general area, sensing the hospital's general direction. Finding her way through the surging swirl of pictures flicking at her a mile a minute was tough. She bumped into other people’s mental images sometimes and tuned them out, as she located the building, the pale bricks and the visitors loitering outside its entrance reassured her that she was on the right track. She smiled to herself, shuffling further up the bed.

  She headed inside the building and ventured up through the floors, past the café, past anxious families huddled together in waiting rooms, and staff conferring with serious looks.

  Scanning quickly, she found Gypsy’s room on the third floor. Renee settled in the top corner of the room. She saw Gypsy lying on the bed reading a novel. Her face looked relaxed, or at least less strained than the last time she saw her.

  Look at that, I don’t believe it! She’d done it.

  The next task was to get her aunt's attention. Looking at the yellow Post-it notes on the table, she realized these would be perfect. Gypsy loved her Post-it notes. They were plastered all over her flat. They were on the back of the front doors, cupboards, practically wallpaper. What if Renee could make the paper move without any wind? It was an exciting idea, but she wasn’t sure how on earth she would do it. Whatever she did, it had to happen fast.

  Her thoughts racing, she focused every ounce of her energy onto moving the notes. Even a small flutter would do it. She took a huge breath and held it, using the momentum to focus. She pushed her energy outwards, fixed and unwavering. With satisfaction, she saw the paper flicker a little, and she let go of her breath in a rush, gasping for air, recovering her pulse to a normal rate.

  It had worked better than she could have hoped. The paper flickered, its corners moving even though the window in the room was closed, with no trace of wind. When she saw the flickering pages gaining momentum, flicking faster in the stillness of the hospital room, Renee smiled. Gypsy looked up from her book, her back going ramrod straight.

  Seizing the moment, Renee tried to establish a line to her aunt.

  Gypsy? Can you hear me? Are you getting this? She saw Gypsy shuffle awkwardly across the bed, closer to the Post-it notes on the table, her mouth hanging open.

  Renee? Is that you? Seriously?

  Yes, I’m here. I had to talk to you, it’s important.

  Her aunt’s face broke into a toothy grin.

  I’m impressed. This sort of thing isn’t easy.

  Yeah, I know. Renee preened, a smile breaking free and taking hold.

  You certainly got my attention. Gypsy’s thoughts filled her mind.

  I wanted to warn you, Renee’s voice was echoing through Gypsy’s mind.

  Warn me? Gypsy ran her fingers across her mouth, rubbing absentmindedly.

  The creepy man is hunting you, stalking you. Renee grazed fingers across her collarbone. The more she thought about him, the worse she felt, nausea churning.

  Gypsy shuddered. Renee felt a chill down her back as she thought about the faceless man tracking her aunt, chasing her.

  There’s a policeman outside the door.

  There is?

  Yes, he arrived yesterday. Connor arranged for a guard outside my room. I’ll be fine.

  Renee pulled the bed coverings more tightly around her body. He’s approached a friend, asking for your address. Don’t go home, please don’t go home. He’ll be there, I know it.

  Renee, calm down. Let the police do their job. I can take care of myself.

  This did little to ease Renee’s mind. She shook her head. Gyp, let me talk to Mum. Maybe you can stay with us. Just for a few days, give them a chance to catch this man.

  Renee saw Gypsy’s shoulders heave. Renee knew Gypsy longed to be home, but her safety was more important.

  All right, Renee, if you are that worried about it, I’ll talk to your mum. If she agrees, I’ll stay at your place for a bit. But only for a few days—I’m not used to living with my sister. It’s been a long time.

  Yay! I’ll tell Mum tonight. Maybe we’ll even come in to see you in person. Renee smiled, her toes curling in satisfaction. She couldn’t wait to have her aunt stay with them where she would be safe. With a quick goodbye, she broke the connection and ran downstairs, doing a little dance on the way down. He’d never find her aunt here.

  *****

  As I rested my head back against the pillow, I thought about Connor, wondering if I was ready for love again. After my split with Mark, I’d decided that I was probably just too difficult to deal with and given up my dream of having children of my own. Leah’s comments about finding a man and having children had burned because she’d tapped into my greatest fear. I’d thought Mark was the one and that we’d be together forever and would have a gaggle of beautiful children.

  On the night we broke up, I had no idea it was about to happen. After three false alarms, we’d always gotten back together.

  The door to my hospital room creaked open bringing me back to the present. Connor had finally shown his handsome face. There he was, staring at my bed with a contemplative look. His hair was tousled and he looked like he had slept in his clothes. The dark shadows under his eyes spoke volumes.

  I tried not to be too surly and resentful.

  “So, you decided I was worth another visit, did you?” I raised a hand to my head. Thank goodness, I was wearing a scarf today to cover my hair, which was still growing back.

  Connor looked at me without blinking. “I’m sorry, Gypsy. I know I said I’d be back soon. The investigation is intense and I’ve been distracted.” He looked down at the floor.

  He looked so ashamed that I instantly forgave him. With a face like that, how could I not?

  “I missed you,” I said, turning my head to look at him.

  His head came up sharply and he ventured a smile. “You did?”

  “Yes, I did.” I smiled at him, and I meant it.

  “Oh, er, that’s good,” he said clearly unsure of where to go from here. He grabbed his earlobe, rubbing it tenderly as he shifted the chair across to my bedside and sat down tentatively.

  Now that the coffee date we had so flippantly suggested when we first met was off the table, I wanted to get to know Connor.

  “So much for catching up for coffee then, huh?” I tried a small smile, gazing across at him.

  Connor smiled back. “Yeah, I guess you never can tell…”

  “Have you and Jill been split for long?” My sudden diverting comment was intended to get to know Connor as soon as I could. After my brush with death, who knew how long I’d have with the man. Moreover, if there was one thing I’d learned after my break up with Mark, it was to take opportunities where I could.

  He bowed his head. “Almost a year now, but it feels like at least three times that.”

  “Yeah, I know that feeling. Ten months for me after Mark. The loneliness doesn’t go away like I thought it would. Main problem is the regret, shoulda woulda coulda helps no one
. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell though. Sometimes I wonder if I’d done things differently would we still be together.”

  Connor’s eyes came up and he met my gaze. He understood.

  “Somehow, I don’t think so. Besides, if the cards had played out differently we wouldn’t have met.” The ghost of a smile flickered across his face.

  “Well, that’s true. Shame a bash across the head was our second date though.” I felt my face heat up. Shit, maybe he didn’t think of a hospital visit as a date at all. Maybe it was all in the line of duty.

  What an idiot you are, Gypsy.

  He unfolded his frame from the chair and headed over to my bedside where he perched on the right hand side of the bed, taking my hand in his.

  His hand was warm, rough, and reassuring.

  “I wish you hadn’t been attacked either, but we’ll work with what we’ve got.”

  A rush of heat reached my chest.

  “If only…” I said. The damn door creaked open again and the nurse Tina appeared, yet again. The timing of the revolving door of nurses checking my vital signs was taking its toll.

  She flicked a glance to Connor and me as he slowly removed his hand from my grip.

  “Sorry, time to check your blood pressure again.”

  The interruption brought me out of my Connor induced reverie and into the present.

  “I noticed you sent an officer to guard my room,” I said. “It would have been nice to have known before the fact.”

  “Yeah, I know I should have called first. Investigations can move pretty fast once we get a lead, and I tend to get caught up.” He looked down at his phone.

  “So what about Renee? The creep followed her home from school, you know that, right?”

  “What?” Connor looked pale under his tan.

  “Yeah, he found me. How do I protect my niece? Is there anything you can tell me?”

  Connor cleared his throat and slowly lifted his chin. “I’ll arrange for a patrol car to drive past Renee’s home. The perpetrator is still at large and you are the only witness at present. It stands to reason he’ll come for you.”