Psycho [and Psychic] Games

by Amie Gibbons

  You’d never guess he’s the top dog of Tennessee’s FBI serial killer division.

  “Ariana,” Huxley said as he walked over. “Grant.”

  “Hey, Pat.” I shot a glance at the van. “You ready for me?”

  It was only polite to ask. It was his crime scene, after all.

  “Yep.” He led me over to the driver’s side window.

  “Where should I set up?” I looked around. People surrounded the scene, crowdin’ together on the parking lot above us, grass next to the road, in the middle of the intersection, and behind the van in the road.

  “You done processing?” Grant asked.

  Huxley nodded.

  “Here, Ryder.” Grant opened the back of the van and I twitched.

  “Sir?” I asked.

  “It’s private and it’s your best chance of getting something.”

  My stomach rolled over as I climbed into the back of the van. It had a bench along each side with seats delineated by sets of chains bolted into the floor.

  It stank of fear.

  The agent and guards were shot once they jumped out, but they were scared when they did it.

  They had every right to be.

  I set my wooden bowl on one of the benches, sat next to it, and lit my little stick’s end.

  I dragged in a few deep breaths of the rich scent of sandalwood before putting it in the bowl, and imagined opening up my mind like Quil had taught me.

  He knew a lot for someone who wasn’t psychic cuz he’d ran into a few over the years, but he couldn’t walk me through how to do things like another psychic like Milo could.

  I took another deep breath and looked up.

  There was a group of agents lookin’ in at me.

  I froze.

  “Do they know?” I whispered.

  “Some don’t,” Huxley said. “Some know but don’t really know, and some know.”

  “Can you get rid of them?”

  Grant nodded before Huxley could say anything and walked up, swinging the doors shut.

  Slammin’ us in darkness.

  Fear spiked through my body and lights came on a moment later.

  I squeaked and closed my eyes against the harshness, blinking them open slowly.

  “It’s okay, Ryder,” Grant said, sitting next to me and squeezing my shoulder.

  I nodded.

  “Not sure how long we can be in here, sir,” I said.

  “You scared?” Huxley asked. “Hey, whatever you need to deal with this, I can make it happen.”

  “Oh, no, well, not really,” I said. “But we’ve got a friend coming soon, to help track. And she might have trouble getting through, or will… er, surprise the guys when she has no trouble getting through.”

  “Fuzzy?” Huxley asked.

  “Fuzzy!”

  “What, you don’t work with shifters?”

  “We don’t know any.”

  “Then who… ohhhhhh, think cooler?”

  I nodded.

  “The alliance.” Huxley nodded. “You know, five years ago this was all just shit in books my wife reads.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s always been real. You just didn’t know it.”

  Huxley’s face broke into a smile that sent his skin wrinkling under the bright lights. “You got a point, kid.”

  I smiled and it was only like half forced as I closed my eyes, focusin’ on the world inside the van.

  The metal sang, almost like it was waiting for me, ready to spill what it’d witnessed. It was the sole survivor and it wanted to tell what it’d seen to the only person around who could understand it.

  It should be raining.

  I don’t know where the thought came from. It was stupid cuz running water dampens (get it?) my abilities.

  It felt wrong for all this horror to be happening on such a beautiful summer night.

  I focused on the scent of the sandalwood and imagined my mind blossoming open like a flower, the smoke curling in, settling to form pictures.

  I leaned back against the metal, letting it’s coolness wash through me like Grant’s eyes.

  Flash.

  Truck sat on the bench two seats down from me and I looked over.

  “Hello, Ariana,” he said.

  Chapter eleven

  My blood ran cold.

  That wasn’t supposed to happen.

  “Oh, this?” he asked. “Think of it like a psychic voicemail. My friend left a present in the van for you.”

  “Can you hear me?” I asked.

  Holy crap on cooked cats!

  I’d never talked in a vision.

  I’d never been in a vision. They were always me just watching things happen, like a movie. This was more like a dream.

  “So,” Truck said like I hadn’t spoken, “you’re going to see what happened, of course, but, and here’s the kicker, due to the spell, you may not see what actually happened. How will you know? Well, you won’t. That’s what makes it fun. This is your first test. If you can see what actually happened, it’ll give you the next clue to figuring out the puzzle. Only way you’re doing that is if you’re powerful enough. So pay attention.”

  He took a deep breath. “The fun’s just starting.”

  Crack! sang outside, followed by a barely audible thump and crash, like shattering glass.

  I didn’t need to be psychic to know that was the sniper’s first round. I’d shot supersonic rounds out of suppressed rifles only a few times at the range, but that crack was unmistakable.

  The guards jumped to, rushing out of the van with guns up.

  Truck smirked.

  Shouts filled the air and that crack came again, followed by a much larger thump, and then again, too fast for the second guard to run probably.

  The agent slunk out, keeping low to the ground as he slammed the doors closed.

  Noises outside said something was happening, but I couldn’t figure out what.

  Then a tiny pop.

  And thump.

  She didn’t use the sniper rifle for the agent, she killed him with a suppressed handgun.

  But didn’t Jet say all were taken out by sniper bullets from the building?

  Wait, she!

  How did I know it was a she?

  The doors opened and a young woman wearing a black party dress and flats who had long black hair and the delicate features of an Asian movie star jumped in, holding a giant pink purse.

  A Birkin Bag if I had to put money on it.

  That was some seriously expensive taste.

  Where was her rifle?

  She unlocked Truck, keeping her eyes on him the entire time.

  “This isn’t normally what I do, Mr. Truck,” she said, pulling a set of black sweats out of her bag and handing them to him. She pulled out a much smaller loose velvet black bag and set it on the bench.

  “I know.” Truck nodded. “Thank you. You’ll have the money wired tomorrow.”

  “No, your safe house is set up. Go there. I’ll have the money within four hours.”

  He met her eyes and she stared him down.

  Fearless.

  “A professional,” Truck said. “I can respect that. You’ll have it as soon as I get to my safe house. Internet is set up?”

  “Yes.”

  “And witnesses?”

  “The spell is in place.”

  “What about the special item I requested?”

  She nodded towards the bench. “Speak into the wall. Say start and end, and it will start and end in those places. Everything else you asked for is in the bag.”

  She disappeared.

  Truck burst out laughing, bending over.

  “Oh,” he finally said as he stood up again and pulled the shirt over his head, “that is nifty! I need one of those. How much would that cost?”

  I opened my eyes and stared over at the side of the van.

  What the?

  I was on the floor of the van?

  My head was in a big lap and I didn’t have to see to know it wa
s Grant.

  I shifted and he made a small noise as I pushed myself up with one hand on his leg.

  “Slowly, Ryder,” he said, helping me sit up.

  “How long?” I asked.

  “About a minute,” Grant said.

  “Wow.” I stood on shaking legs and sat on the bench again.

  “What did you see?” Huxley asked.

  I opened my mouth and gagged.

  Grant sat next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pullin’ me against his side and rubbing my arm.

  I breathed him in and opened my mouth again.

  “I, um, it was a spell,” I said. “Like a psychic voicemail he left for me. He said hi to me and that that’s what it was, and then said it was the first test. He said if I saw the real events, I’d have a hint as to where he went, but I wouldn’t know if it was real or not either way.”

  I took a deep breath. “Anyway, if my vision was correct, it wasn’t a partner, it was a hired assassin.”

  “Not surprising, considering the training required for those shots,” Huxley said.

  “Oh yeah,” I said, “from the sound of it, that last shot, the one through the agent, was a suppressed handgun. It was a pop, instead of the big crack.”

  “Wait.” Grant held up a hand at Huxley. “Walk us through it.”

  “Okay, I was here and Truck talked to me, said it was the voicemail and a test thing, and then it was like the movie started. There was a crack, like a rifle, and the glass breaking. The guards got out and there were two more cracks, pretty close together. Then the agent went out. I’m sorry, I don’t know his name.”

  “David Burkhead,” Huxley said. “Good man. Good agent. I’m not looking forward to telling his family he’s dead. He was coming up on twenty years this fall. Planned to retire and teach.”

  We sat for a minute.

  A moment of silence for the dead agent we knew could be any of us every day we went to work.

  “Anyway.” Huxley shook his head. “We catch this bastard and we put him down. To do that, we got to keep working.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “After that, the assassin opened the doors and hopped in. She didn’t have the rifle, but did have a big purse.”

  “She?” Grant said.

  “Yes, sir. Can’t guarantee it since the whole vision is suspect, but that’s what I saw,” I said. “She pulled sweats out of the purse, and a black velvet bag with something in it out too. They talked about payment and him wiring it once he was to his safe house. Sounded like it was maybe a ways away. She said pay within four hours. Then she disappeared and he laughed and said he wondered how much that’d cost, and the vision ended.”

  “He could pay from a smart phone,” Huxley said. “If it wasn’t one associated with him before, it’s not like it would give away his position. Or he could get dressed and go to an internet café.”

  “He didn’t have a phone,” I said, pausin’. “But it could’ve been in the bag she gave him. Or this could all be a red herring since, as I said, I can’t guarantee that’s what happened. For one, in the vision, the sound of the gun used on Burkhead was different than the others, but Jet said they all were sniped.”

  Grant opened the door and shouted, “Kowalski!”

  I blew out my incense and put them in their baggie, and shoved that and the bowl back in my purse.

  “Yes, sir?” Jet said outside.

  “Tell me about the shots again,” Grant said.

  “Sniper, measured at about a hundred yards,” Jet said. “That’s all the forensic team told me.”

  “Did you see the bodies before they were packed up?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Where?”

  “Ours. It was the closest.”

  Grant jumped out and turned around, jerking his chin at me.

  He held a hand out for me and I grabbed it, using it for balance as I hopped down.

  And maybe for some comfort too.

  I looked around. Agents and local LEOs stared at me.

  I may as well have had bars around me with a sign over my cage saying ‘psychic,’ while a ton of people munching on cotton candy walked by.

  My team might get a little uneasy when I see things, they might joke that I’m a freak, but they never, ever look at me the way the agents here were.

  “You staring for a reason!” Grant yelled. “Get your asses in gear. We have a psycho to catch.”

  They scrambled and Grant grabbed one of the locals by the shoulder, turning the man around and staring him down.

  “You look at her that way again,” Grant said loud enough for people around to hear, sayin’ he wanted them to, “and I’ll take your badge… and use it to pop out your eyes and feed them to you. You got that?”

  The local cop nodded, stumblin’ back so fast he tripped. He pushed back up, eyes down as he fast walked away.

  “What was he doing specifically, sir?” I asked quietly.

  “He was the ringleader,” Grant said.

  “How could you tell?”

  He looked at me. “I can tell. Call Kat.”

  I pulled out my phone and called her.

  She answered on the second ring.

  “Hey,” she said, “we’re barely starting over here.”

  “Yeah, I figured,” I said. “But can you take a look at Agent Burkhead first?”

  “Any reason why?” she asked.

  Grant shook his head.

  “Um, we don’t want to say cuz it might influence you, but look at him.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “The bullet wound the same as the others?”

  “Hmmm.” She paused for a minute. “Yep. All rifle rounds.”

  “Thanks, Kat,” I said.

  We hung up and I turned to Grant. “It was by the sniper, meaning my vision was wrong at least on that. What now?”

  “We investigate, Ryder.”

  He walked away and I followed him, little legs workin’ overtime to keep up.

  Huxley barked orders behind us like a dog on speed, voice fading as we neared the car.

  They were the investigators on this one.

  “Sir?” I asked once we hit the car and he unlocked the trunk.

  He pulled out the bourbon and a set of plastic cups.

  “When did you put that in there?” I asked.

  “When we left.”

  Huh. I really wasn’t paying attention.

  He poured us each a good pour and I took mine, holding it up.

  Grant smiled his actual full smile and tapped his cup against mine. We sipped and I coughed with the sting.

  “That is good stuff,” I said.

  “Yeah, I’ve never tried this one,” Grant said, leanin’ against the van.

  I leaned too. “What now, sir?”

  “We have two agents coming from the prison with Truck’s stuff,” Grant said. “They will be here soon.” He pulled out his phone and texted something. An answer came back right away and he nodded. “Five minutes.”

  “And I’ll touch it to get visions.” I nodded. “Sir, what is everyone… doing, exactly?” I pointed at the buzzing crime scene.

  “Those ones were processing, now they’re just pissing around. Huxley is getting them organized to spread from there. Looking for tracks. We were hoping you could tell us which way he went.”

  “I can still try,” I said. “The voicemail was just in the van.”

  “You will. That’s what this is for.” He held up his cup and took another sip.

  “Hear hear.” I drank too.

  “This is the most I have had to drink in about three years,” Grant said.

  “What happened three years ago?”

  “Fraternity reunion. I flew home for the week. One of us is an attorney for the Steelers. He got us tickets to a game. We started drinking at the tailgate and didn’t stop. Thirty-five-year-olds can not handle their alcohol like college students can. You hit a point around thirty where suddenly being hungover doesn’t mean some water and aspirin. I
t’s you lying on the bathroom floor for a day, wondering why the hell you thought partying like a twenty-one-year-old was a good idea.”

  I burst out laughing. “I can’t imagine you drunk, sir. I can’t even imagine you twenty-one and partying.” I finished mine in one long sip.

  “Yeah, well.” He gave his ghost smile as he sipped. “We all have a past, Ryder. When you’re in college, it’s fun. In your thirties? It’s pathetic. I have never felt older than I did that weekend. You can’t recapture your youth. And it’s sad when you try.”

  Why did I feel like he was sayin’ more than that?

  He grabbed the bottle and I held up my cup for him to refill.

  “I think I’m buildin’ a tolerance,” I said, taking a long drink. “I’m not really feelin’ it.”

  He covered his mouth with his cup but I swear I saw a glimpse of a grin. “You may not feel it due to shock, but you sound like it’s hitting you,” he said after a moment.

  “Am I in shock?” I asked.

  “You’re acting like it.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize.” I took another long drink.

  This stuff was just gettin’ smoother and smoother.

  What were we waitin’ for again?

  Oh, right, the agents with Truck’s stuff for me to touch.

  “Hey.”

  I jumped and hiccupped as Carla appeared next to me. And I do mean appeared.

  “Hey, Carla!” I said.

  She bent to give me a hug and I held up the cup.

  “Bourbon for ya?” I asked. “Reallllly good stuff.”

  “Finish hers,” Grant said, takin’ the cup from my hand. “One of these days, I’m going to have a doctor run tests on your metabolism.”

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “Alcohol hits you fast, but leaves fast,” Grant said, holdin’ the cup out to Carla.

  “You think that’s bad?” Carla asked, taking it. “You should see a vamp metabolize alcohol. Ours is so fast, it’s hard for us to get drunk.” She sipped. “That is good.”

  “I usually preper, prepurrrr, prefer fruity,” I said. “But it does the job.”

  “Apparently,” she said.

  Grant caught her up as we walked back to the van.

  I looked around as we walked. The agents were dissipating, supposedly trying to catch where Truck went from here, but more than a few stopped and stared.

  Carla was gorgeous and the red dress emphasized her curves and cinnamon skin, but I wondered how the guys staring at her would react if they knew she could rip out at least one throat before they even realized she left my side?