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

by Andrea Drew

  Renee peered up at her mother, placing a hand on her waist for comfort.

  “What’s going on, Mum? Where’s Gyp?” Renee was frowning and staring at the nurse, hoping for an answer.

  “Not now, Renee, seriously. Why the hell they discharged her early, I will never know.” Renee shook her head as she moved away from the nurse’s station. When she was a few meters away, she called, “Let’s just hope nothing happens to her, otherwise it will be on their heads. There wasn’t a policeman parked outside her room for the fun of it. You would think they would know that.”

  “Mum, calm down. Let’s go.” Renee was starting to feel embarrassed. She had a feeling Mum was going off on one of her tirades.

  Leah headed off, her steps quickening as the gravity of the situation dawned on her with each step.

  “Let’s go, hon. We’d better make sure my bloody sister’s all right.”

  15

  Connor had been ringing the number for Gypsy’s phone beside her hospital bed, but it was ringing out, time after time, the tone pulsing in his ear. He decided to ring reception. Maybe the nurses in the ward would know what was going on.

  “Hello, St. Vincent’s Hospital.”

  “Yes, hello, Detective Constable Reardon here. I’m looking for Gypsy Shields in Ward 3B. Can you put me through to the nurse’s station, please?”

  “Certainly.”

  The line clicked as the receptionist tried transferring his call. If he got put through to the wrong department, he’d probably end up kicking the nearest inanimate object. He’d had enough.

  “Hello, 3B.” The woman’s words came out so quickly and were so garbled that Connor had no idea what she said.

  “Yes, hello, what ward is that?”

  “3B.” The nurse’s voice had an edge of barely contained impatience.

  “Oh, good, I’m looking for Gypsy Shields. I’ve been ringing the phone in her room and it just rings out.”

  “One moment, please.” He heard keys clicking in the background. The nurse must have been looking her name up on the computer.

  “Let’s see, Gypsy Shields. Yes, here we go. She was discharged earlier today around four thirty.”

  Shit, she was already gone.

  “Can I ask, did she go home with her sister? There is a potential security issue with this patient. She was the witness to a crime. You noticed the police guard outside her room?”

  “Yes, we were aware of that. Just a moment.” Connor heard more clacking keys. Good grief, he needed a punching bag or something.

  “Er… Detective Reardon? It seems Ms. Shields discharged herself earlier today. Her sister was due to take her home this evening, but instead, Ms. Shields took a taxi. We couldn’t hold her for much longer against her will. She has an outpatient appointment in two days. Apparently, her sister will be collecting her from home.”

  He swore quietly to himself and hung up. Of all the incompetence! He ran to his vehicle, hiding underneath police headquarters in the car park and unlocked the door meters before he reached it. He was panting, not from physical exertion, but from the thought of Gypsy lying cold in the gutter somewhere. The tires squealed as he reversed the car out of the space as fast as he could.

  Would he put the lights on? What the hell, this was urgent. He got the siren going and focused, channeling all of his anger, all of the guilt, the thought of losing her when he’d just met her, into his driving, his concentration a line of sight ahead.

  He hoped to hell that she was okay. He wasn’t sure if Aaron would be outside her apartment. Hell, he wasn’t even sure Aaron had Gypsy’s address, but he couldn’t take the slightest chance. He needed to see her with his own eyes, touch her, and hold her.

  He was so intent on his goal that he was oblivious to the streets and cars around him. He didn’t think about getting a parking spot as he usually did. He needed the old faithful weapon and he needed it now.

  He fumbled for his key, swearing again as his fingers became entangled with the items in his pocket. Connor swung the door open and bolted for the bedroom, making for the space under his bed for the second time this week. There it was, staring at him, egging him on. Thank God. He retrieved it from the box, attempting to slow his breathing as he loaded it with the bullets he kept in the same box. With the gun stuffed in his pocket, he walked quickly, almost at a run, back to the front door and headed for the car.

  He couldn’t wait to see her. He had a feeling something was happening, a bad something.

  *****

  Wrenching the handle of the canvas bag, he dragged it from the passenger seat and shut the car door. Pools of light on the footpath caught his attention. Skin taut, arms pistons, he made for his final destination. He was slightly out of breath, pulse hammering. This was it, all or nothing.

  Standing on the footpath a hundred meters from Gypsy’s home, he squinted down the murky deserted street, registering the reflected gold numbers hanging from her mailbox. The dark narrow lane running along the side of the building would be perfect, enveloping him in darkness as it had the night she’d stumbled onto his plan. His pace quickened, a little at first, but then broke into a slow run and felt the impact of his feet hitting concrete vibrating up through his legs. The thought of hurting her tore at him. His chest heaved and his mouth opened sharply as he sucked in breath. He nudged the gate open with one knee, looking around as he did so. Not a soul in sight.

  His footsteps were quiet as the incline slowed him. Judging the old sash window, he padded through the rear yard carefully, mentally weighing and measuring the situation.

  He pulled the plastic chair to the wall where he jammed it against a downpipe. He stretched his arms up with a grunt. Shit, it was higher than he remembered. He’d work it out. He was determined to get in and leave his message. Once that was done, he’d set himself up in comfort for the flash, the jolt and unexpected blow to come. He couldn’t wait to witness the look on the stupid bitch’s face.

  He looked forward to the squirming, the pain and screams. First, he needed to get through the damn window. Not only was it higher than he’d remembered when he’d cased the place with Stewie, but the chair wasn’t tall enough to leverage his body up and through it.

  In the dim light from across the lane way, he saw a brick jutting out from the wall, casting a shadow over the others. It could give him the leverage he needed to get up over and in. Standing on the chair that gave slightly under his weight, and with his hands pushed against the wall, Aaron moved his right foot over the brick. The toe of his running shoe stretched and creased as he pushed up. Every muscle strained as he thrust up to grab hold of the sash window. The struggle was worth it. Panting, he heaved the rest of his body up, grunting as he pulled his weight across to perch precariously on the ledge. He felt the weight of the window move upwards grudgingly. It was heavier than he thought. As the frame lifted and reached its peak, the weight of it slammed back down, landing on his sore left knee. He bit down on his bottom lip suppressing a primal scream feeling it resonate in his throat.

  The last thing he needed was to attract the attention of meddling neighbors.

  Still his leg hurt like fucking hell.

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed upward again, feeling the weight of it give and the wooden frame scraped as he raised it high enough to gain entry. The bathroom was dark and hushed like a lifeless cave.

  He swung his knees across to dangle his feet into the bathroom. As he searched downward for a solid surface, the soles of his running shoes didn’t make contact with a single object.

  Damn.

  His legs swung in emptiness. He dragged the bag up and over the window ledge.

  Not now, idiot, get on with it. There’ll be a toilet there somewhere, probably just a foot or two below. Jump!

  He called out in shock as he landed feet first into a bath filled with water, cold and dank.

  His foot slid to the bottom of the bath, landing him on his back. He jerked up clumsily, the pain rearing up his leg.

  �
�Fuck!”

  The surprise of the cold water and the pain of a wrenched ankle registered. He was soaked up his armpits.

  Goddamn that bitch to hell.

  The water sloshed as he stood up, grasping onto the wall to get his bearings. His breath came out in a rush as he stomped out onto the now slippery tiled floor. He grabbed onto the door handle with his right hand, using the leverage to stagger through the hallway into her lounge room. Thank fuck he was out and had shaken off the watery shock.

  Stupid fucking slut.

  He’d show her.

  Fury building, he headed toward the lounge, and paused to wring out his jumper. To his immediate right were stairs, and at the top of them, on the first left would be her bedroom, according to the plans Stewie had got hold of. At least that dumb fuck had some uses.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he bent forward from the waist, his left hand gripping the railing as he got his breath back. There were only twelve steps. If he hadn’t hurt his fucking ankle, he could have run up them.

  The wet seams of his jeans were rubbing on the cold skin of his thighs. As soon as the dumb bitch got here, he’d make her pay, big time.

  His legs felt like lead as he dragged himself up the stairs. He noticed a pile of papers flung across the top, typical. The dirty whore was too lazy to clean up after herself.

  He’d planned on leaving some more of the post it notes for her downstairs, but his wet landing had meant a change of plan.

  He’d heard via Stewie’s grapevine that the neurotic cow left post it notes across her kitchen to remind her to turn appliances off. So he’d decided he’d take them down and leave some notes of his own. She deserved to have the shit scared out of her. He’d planned on waiting for her upstairs, torturing her, at his mercy.

  He reached into his pocket, feeling the soggy mass of post it notes disintegrating there. He threw up his right foot, and then he brought it down hard onto what he thought was a wooden stairway.

  A fucking trap.

  The pictures on the wall bounced and moved, ricocheting off one another.

  A furious, blood-curdling scream ripped the walls apart, his scream.

  Falling backwards onto his ass, he drew his left foot up to the top platform. He reached for his right ankle encased in a rabbit trap. Metal fangs bit into his skin with the movement. Rearing his head back, he let out another scream of agony.

  The teeth had latched on hard; no way could he pull free. If he did, he knew the blood would pour and he’d bleed to death. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes before letting out a high-pitched wail that he was sure would lift the roof.

  He leaned against a wooden post at the top of the stairs and gripped it, hoping to get his body up somehow.

  He’d kill her now. Earlier, he’d figured he’d simply scare and hurt her for as long as possible without any idea of murder. The fucking trap had changed his mind, no mucking around with games anymore.

  He pushed his way over to the bedroom doorway and levered the door open with his body weight. The bed was directly in front, the green glow from a large screened alarm clock casting an eerie light across the bed. He fell backwards onto it with a grunt, hoisting up his ankle onto the bed complete with trap where he moaned as it made contact with the bed.

  His breath came in ragged bursts. He leaned across to turn off the alarm clock. The glow reminded him far too much of the light cast by the television on the night his home burned to the ground, taking his mother with it.

  Electrical current surged through his body and he trembled and shook, almost biting off his tongue. As his hand was pushed away from the source, he trembled, feeling real fear for the first in a long time. The bitch deserved more than he gave her. She deserved to die, and die slowly.

  Then he lost consciousness.

  When he came to, the hard faced bitch was standing over him smiling, electrical wire in hand.

  She’d been through his bag.

  He was fucked.

  *****

  Finally.

  I was home.

  I heard the taxi pull away as I slammed the front door shut with the sole of my shoe.

  I dropped my bag beside me, hearing a thud as it landed, and tilted my head to listen for the screams of pain. I wasn’t looking forward to inflicting pain, especially pain that involved my loved ones, but after the hell Aaron had put us through, it had to be done. He had to be stopped.

  I felt my pulse pumping in my neck, a freight train out of control.

  Fear gripped me, tightening my stomach and I sucked in a sharp breath.

  Had something gone wrong? Maybe Aaron had intercepted them. A picture of Renee and Paul tied up and gagged flashed before me.

  Calm down, Gypsy.

  I focused on slowing down my breathing, reining in my pulse.

  I leaned down to unzip my bag, fishing for the scalpel and tens-electrical impulse machine I’d swiped from the hospital. That hadn’t been easy, but then again, who would suspect a brain injury patient on the brink of discharge would flog hospital equipment for her own nefarious ends?

  Obviously, not the hospital staff.

  Carrying my stash, I walked over to the hallway closet, swinging the door open hopefully.

  The hunting rifle was still there.

  I hooked it under my armpit and headed for the stairs. My pulse was no longer hammering. In fact, I felt quite calm. As I reached the stairs, I saw that part of the plan had worked. There was water everywhere, a trail leading upwards. I followed it to the top and found the last step had been removed.

  The trap must have gotten him and the plan we’d carefully worked out had worked. I headed for the bedroom.

  I walked in cautiously and there he was, flaked out on the bed.

  His foot was caught in the trap, which was hanging at the end of the bed. His head hung to one side, and as he breathed, he sucked the bed linen into his open mouth. I dragged in the blue workbag he’d dropped on the landing at the top of the stairs, and leaned down to see electrical wire springing from it. Dropping the tens machine, scalpel and hunting rifle, I grasped the handle ready to loop it around his wrists and pull the wire tight.

  Aaron’s eyes flickered open, his face changing color as he realized who I was.

  “Didn’t turn out the way you expected, then?” My right hand was on my waist above my cockily jutting hip. I leaned over quickly and had the wire around his hands now, and pulled it tighter, listening as he called out.

  “You fucking bitch!” Spittle launched from his mouth, and his face contorted, purple mottle beginning to spread across its whiteness.

  “Now then, Aaron, that’s not the way to make friends, is it? Temper temper.” His hands were secure, but as I stepped back, he tried to sit up. Aaron managed to lift his shoulder from the bed before sagging back. With his right ankle trapped, he was going nowhere, just as I’d hoped.

  My hands were shaking, feet wide apart as I pushed his hands away from me. The fury raged through my veins, gaining momentum like a train speeding out of control.

  He tried getting up again, his stomach flexing as he yet again tried lifting his head from the bed, then landed back with a howl.

  “Frustrated?” I said, warming to my task. “I understand completely. That’s how I felt when I woke up in the hospital. Confused? Trapped? Suck it up, princess, you won’t hurt anyone else again. I’ll make damned sure of it.”

  I pulled down his track suit pants, which stunk. Shit. Someone should have told him to bathe.

  Keeping my gaze fixed on the skunk, I leaned down and curled my fingers around the tens machines handle. Glancing down, I pressed the switch and saw the screen light up.

  “This one’s from me to you. I’m sure Joanne Seyers would be interested in watching, but she’s laid up in the hospital recovering from a blow to the head. Sound familiar, fuck face?”

  I attached three of the pads to his scrotum, one on either side and one underneath. I was repelled, but duty called. The pads were connected to the grey
plastic console with thin wires. His scrotum matched his face−hideously ugly. Sure, he might be fucked up and troubled, but no one forced him to kidnap one woman, and leave me for dead after ramming me with his van. He needed to understand that no evil deed went unpunished, and my fury had taken hold of me sufficiently that I knew with certainty, I would be the one to administer it.

  His eyes widened.

  “You stupid fucking bitch, I should have killed you!” His howl was loud enough to shake the door.

  “You’re right, you should have killed me.” My legs were planted wide and I bared my teeth. “That’s the problem with telepaths. You can never predict what we’ll do next. We have a habit of wandering into dark laneways for no apparent reason.” I heard the dryness in my voice, its timbre deep and threatening. “Plus, we can sometimes get a read on what you’re up to.” I leaned down to lift the second tens machine with slightly smaller pads onto the bed.

  He gave a high pitched shriek, opening his mouth so wide I could see the back of his throat.

  “Listen here, slime ball, irritate me again with your pathetic wailing and I’ll gag you, and I’d really rather not. I’ve got a lot to do and only a bit of time to do it. So can it.”

  He started to cry and shake, his shoulders shaking, but at least his screams had simmered down to a whimper.

  I revised my plan to place some of the pads on the webbing between his fingers, choosing his eyelids instead.

  I separated the magnetic pads on the second machine, and leaned over his body, inhaling another waft of his body odor. He tried pushing me off, rolling his shoulders from side to side, which bashed against my forearms, so I leaned a knee on his chest, increasing his mangled cries.

  At last, the pads were on. It was payback time.

  After lining the small consoles side by side on the bed, I squatted and turned up the power intensity button. Small pulses were therapeutic and sending a tiny amount of electrical current through the muscles could offer pain relief. Full intensity was used in only extreme cases to alleviate intense pain, and this was definitely an extreme case.