She exhaled and turned around, leaning against the bookshelf. “What do you want from me?” she said softly.
“I want to talk. Can you come get a cup of coffee with me? Please, don’t say no. Just fifteen minutes over a cup of coffee.”
Sarah wanted to say no. She wanted to tell him to get out of her store and never come back. But his eyes always held a little glint of mischief, and his smile… His smile said he didn’t give a damn what the rest of the world thought about him, and it all drew her in. She found her lips saying the word, “Yes,” and before she knew it, she had locked up the store and was following him around the corner to the coffee shop.
It was morning, and the coffee shop had a good crowd. A man with a beard and horn-rimmed glasses played acoustic guitar on a stage in the front, and several works of art hung on what would otherwise be bare cement walls. Sarah asked for a latte, and Gio ordered a mineral water. They sat down at a table close to the windows but away from the stage.
“I should tell you,” Gio said, “it scared me how quickly we moved. You gotta understand that when I got back from Iraq, I was different. I had this, like, wall around me. And I wouldn’t let people past that wall. You helped break that down… and for that, I can’t ever repay you.”
She shook her head. “It was a weird time for both of us, I think. I shouldn’t blame you. I had a hand in it, too.”
He grinned. “You still in the same place?”
“No, I moved to another apartment building. It’s a little cheaper and a little smaller. Suits me fine.”
He exhaled loudly. “I miss Arnold. When he died… I thought I might quit the Bureau. I saw so many people die in that damn desert, and I didn’t want to start seeing it here, too.” He looked her in the eyes. “But I realized what we do is important, chasing the monsters. It has to be done, and the sooner we catch them, the more lives we save. It’s important, Sarah.”
“I don’t want to be an FBI agent.”
He shook his head. “I know. This life isn’t for you. But I need your help on something. Just as a consultant. It’s a video found in a man’s home in Scottsdale, Arizona. I watched it. The things this guy does to children… I can’t even put it into words.” He paused. “I had to take a break after watching it. I went up to the roof and did some exercises and then just stared out at the city for a while. Nothing’s affected me like that in a long time.”
She took a sip of her drink, her eyes on the table. “I don’t want to do that anymore, Gio. The last time I helped you, Arnold was killed.”
“And how many lives were saved by stopping—”
“I know. I remember. But I don’t want to open myself up that way again.”
He hesitated, leaning back in his chair. “How is your… gift?”
“It comes and goes. Sometimes I can go for weeks without anything. And then sometimes it’ll hit me five or six times in a day. I’ve also seen that the pain can be… transferred.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I’m feeling something, if I touch someone else, they can sometimes feel it, too. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“You still having nightmares?”
She nodded.
“Have you ever thought—and this is just guesswork—but have you ever thought that maybe the nightmares are there because you don’t exercise it? I mean, maybe you were given this thing for a reason?”
“I don’t know. But I do know I don’t want those images in my head anymore. I’ve seen enough blood.”
He nodded sadly. “Well, I guess I’ve done all I can do. I’m flying out to Arizona day after tomorrow. If you change your mind, please call me. You have my number, right?”
“No, I deleted it when we broke up.”
He grinned and pulled out a card. Gio wrote his cell number on the back and slid it to her across the table. “I could really use your help. My fear for this thing is that it’s a pattern. The words Murder 42 were on the DVD. There might be at least forty-one more.” He rose and slid his hands into his pockets. “It was good seeing you. I mean that.”
“I know you do.”
She gave him a shy grin before he glanced at the man with the acoustic guitar and then left the coffee shop.
9
Blood coated everything. It dripped down from the ceiling in thick strands, the carpet became a swamp, and the once-white walls were stained black and red. The home rumbled and shook violently, and the ground outside opened up. Cars were engulfed, and people soon followed.
The noise should’ve been deafening, but Sarah couldn’t hear anything. She stood in the room as the walls were ripped away, the blood spraying down over her skin, sticky and warm. A mother and her children held each other as fire rained down from the sky, blasting them into ash in an instant. A powerful wind blew, and Sarah could feel that, too, cold as ice on her skin. And then something shook the earth. Something was coming. Something no one was prepared for.
She screamed and shot up in bed, her shirt and pillow damp with sweat. Sucking in breath, her throat ached, and she wondered if she had been screaming in her sleep for a long time. Biggles sat at the foot of her bed, wide-eyed and attentive, staring at her as if he knew her fate but she herself didn’t. Biggles pitied her.
Hiding her face in her hands, she then ran her fingers through her hair and reached out and rubbed the cat’s head, trying to reassure him that everything was all right. But it seemed more like the cat was reassuring her.
Sarah got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. She bent over the toilet and threw up. Afterward, she brushed her teeth and took a shower. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, she told herself. Sometimes dreams didn’t have meaning, and they certainly weren’t predictions of the future.
But, sometimes, they were.
The end of the world had always terrified her. The book in the New Testament she had been most obsessed with as a child was the Revelations of St. John the Divine. She had had the same visions, seen the same blood and death, even as a child. For her, it wasn’t a book. It was a description of her deepest nightmares, retold to her by someone who lived thousands of years ago on a different continent.
After a shower, she checked the clock on her phone: it was just before midnight. Knowing sleep wasn’t coming again, she dressed, kissed Biggles, and headed out the door.
The night air in Philadelphia was an odd mix. Sometimes she got a whiff of the pleasant Pennsylvania air that contained the hints of grass and forests that covered much of the state. And other times she inhaled putrid exhaust that burned her nostrils. Entire sections of the city were zoned industrial, great metal buildings thrusting out of the earth and sending billowing black clouds into the sky. And then, just a short cab ride away, there were some of the densest forests in America.
The streets glimmered as though it had rained, but she knew it hadn’t. In many cities, it was time for the city to start shutting down, but not here. Here, the night was just getting started. Though she wouldn’t participate in the things people did at night in big cities, she could appreciate the energy. The pure, youthful energy pouring out of the clubs and bars. It warmed her to her bones.
Sarah walked for a long time. At one point, she was on a street corner in a section of the city she hadn’t been in before. She chose a direction and began walking, stopping in front of a bar she’d never seen. The windows revealed a piano bar, and a man in a black T-shirt was at the piano leading everyone inside in a drunken rendition of an Elton John song. It made her smile, and she watched it a long time before moving on.
Down the street, in a building mainly taken up by a yoga studio, she found several small shops. On the bottom floor sat an antiques shop and a store that sold new age books, Native American artifacts, and the like. A small sign in the window said that psychic readings were done there.
Sarah was about to walk away and then stopped. She went inside.
The place smelled of some sort of aromatherapy. Lavender, she thought. A woman behind the counter sa
t reading as soft ambient music played. The woman looked up and smiled.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi,” Sarah said, glancing at a colorful dream catcher on the wall behind her. “You guys are open late.”
“Close at midnight.”
“Oh, I’ll leave. Sorry.”
“No, you’re fine. What can I help you find?”
She shrugged. “Nothing really. I don’t know why I came in. The sign about psychic readings, I guess.”
“Oh, yes, Ms. Sheri is one of the best. Have you been to a psychic before?”
“No.”
“Well then, you’re in for a treat. She’s still back there. Go on, go back.”
Sarah hesitated and then moved toward the curtain separating the store from another room. The room was dark, and incense burned. Red and orange curtains hung over the windows, and even the carpet was red. A small woman sat at a table rolling what looked like old animal bones over a table.
“Sit down,” the woman said.
Sarah looked out at the store and debated leaving. But her curiosity had been piqued. She had never met anyone else like her and always wondered if she was unique. She crossed the room and sat down. The woman smiled at her and held out her palms.
“Give me your hands,” Ms. Sheri said.
“I’d rather not.”
“Why?”
“I just… would rather not have you touch me right now.”
“If you wish.” Ms. Sheri picked up the bones and threw them down on the table. “Twenty-five.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dollars. Payment is up front.”
“Oh,” Sarah said, digging into her purse. She lay a twenty and a five on the table and then leaned back.
Ms. Sheri smiled and then took the bones and rolled them again. Her face twisted in confusion and her head tilted to the side. “You have a great decision before you.”
Sarah’s stomach jumped into her throat and her heart beat faster. “Yes.”
“It’s your job.”
Her stomach returned to normal, and she almost audibly sighed. “What about my job?” she said flatly.
“You are debating a great decision about your promotion, but you’re worried that your boss will not offer it. You must be brave in such things and take the initiative. Go in and ask for that promotion, and it will be granted. You have nothing to fear. You will make a good asset to the company and be there a long time. You will also marry not twice, but once, to a man you meet in a distant place. And I see something else.”
“What?”
“I see your car. It needs repairs, but you have been delaying getting them. I wouldn’t delay any longer.”
Sarah shook her head. “That’s disgusting.”
“What is, dear?”
“That people come to you because they’re hurt, and you take advantage of them like this.”
Ms. Sheri’s face flushed with anger for a moment, but it was only a moment. Then the calm demeanor came back, and she smiled. “The dead tell me what they tell me. I cannot force them to reveal more than they are willing.”
“The dead?” she said, anger in her voice. “You wanna know what the dead are saying to you?” Sarah lashed out, grabbing Ms. Sheri’s hands. Pain started in a pinpoint in her head and then grew in a spiderweb pattern inside her skull, the pressure sending a thread of blood down her nose almost instantly. “The dead are pissed, Suzanne. Suzanne Blout of Ann Arbor, Michigan. You wanna know what the dead are saying?”
She tried to pull away, but Sarah held her there. “Let go of me,” Suzanne shouted. “Let go!”
“The dead are telling me that you killed your mother. She was in your home and you couldn’t take care of her anymore, but you wanted to keep the social security checks. So you let her starve and didn’t tell anyone.”
“Let go!” she screamed. Suzanne was frantic now, doing anything she could to get away.
“Your mother’s here,” Sarah spat, “you wanna know what she’s saying? She’s saying she’s waiting for you.”
With that, Suzanne screamed and yanked her hands away so hard she tumbled backward, knocking her bones and her tarot deck off her table. The cashier ran in and said, “What happened?”
Blood cascaded down Sarah’s lips and chin. She pressed her fingers to her nose and ran out of the shop and into the street. She got half a block before her knees gave out, and she had to lean against a wall and slump down to the ground.
10
When Sarah awoke the next morning after walking home, she wasn’t sure what had set her off last night. Anger had come to the surface in a way she couldn’t remember ever happening before. A friend of hers from years ago, a graduate student in psychology, had once told her that the only thing all the great psychologists in history agreed on was that people didn’t know the cause of their actions.
She swung her legs out of bed, showered, and changed. Her shift at the bookstore started in half an hour, and it took her at least twenty minutes to walk there.
The day was going to be a hot one, and she regretted wearing a long-sleeved shirt. She stopped at a small boutique clothing store on the way to work. The store proudly proclaimed that it only sold retro styles—code for second-hand—but most of their clothing looked almost new.
Sarah headed to the women’s section, and as she scanned the racks, her phone buzzed in her purse. It was a text from Gio. Have you changed your mind? Need to let them know tonight if you’re coming on the flight.
She was about to text back that she didn’t want to come when she stopped. The truth was, she did want to go, but not to help on the case. Gio and she would be spending time together. They could talk and figure out what had happened. The breakup had come so quickly that she hadn’t had time to really process it. Maybe some time discussing it with him was what she needed.
A part of her, she knew, wanted to be with him. But another part wanted to be alone and withdraw from the world. She wondered if the legends of witches living in mountain caves and forests came from people like her who had decided it was too painful to be around others.
I don’t know, she texted back.
Do me a favor then, come down to DC and watch the video. Then decide.
Before she could stop herself, she replied, OK.
When she replaced her phone, a cold feeling started in her gut—partly excitement that she would spend time with Gio again, partly fear that she wouldn’t be able to tell him that she didn’t want to work on this case. The thought of opening the floodgates in her mind and allowing anything to go in there sent a shiver up her spine.
“That’d look good on you.”
Sarah turned to see the clerk standing near her. Sarah had grabbed a shirt without even knowing it. The shirt was black with a Native American design on the chest. She held it in front of her a moment and said, “I’ll take it. Thanks.”
11
Giovanni Adami sat in his office at the DC field offices for the Federal Bureau of Investigation and stared out the windows. The building and this city had a lot of history. J. Edgar Hoover had roamed these streets, shredding the constitution a little more every day. Gio had no delusions about the organization he worked for. Some of the agents felt the Bureau could do no wrong, but he had seen firsthand that that wasn’t true. He couldn’t even imagine someone like Hoover, who felt phone tapping citizens without their knowledge, making arrests without cause, beating suspects, and fabricating evidence were just par for the course of being a law enforcement agent. But he knew, even now, there were people in local law enforcement, and even the FBI, who felt such tactics weren’t out of bounds.
“Sir,” a man said as he came in and sat down.
“What is it, Rick?” he asked without taking his eyes away from the windows.
“Got some signatures I need. And an update on that Williams thing.”
“What about it?”
“The dad changed his story and said the girl was missing after her tennis lessons, not before
. It’s a minor thing, but it’s weird. You’d think he’d remember every detail about the day his daughter disappeared. I’d like to dig a little deeper into him.”
Gio nodded without looking at the man. “Go ahead, but don’t tip your hand. He’ll eventually screw up on his own. We just gotta wait.”
“Gotcha.” He paused. “You doin’ all right?”
Gio finally turned to him. “Fine. Why?”
“You seem kinda off.”
“Just a video I saw. The Murder 42 case in Scottsdale. I can’t get those images out of my head.”
Williams nodded sympathetically. “I got news for you, sir: they’re not goin’ anywhere. They’re yours now. That’s part of this job.”
“I know.” He inhaled deeply and let it out through his nose as he leaned back in the chair and turned his eyes toward the ceiling. “But now I gotta make someone I care about watch it, too.”
“Who?”
“Old girlfriend I need as a consultant.”
“Oh. My two cents? Don’t mix business and relationships. If you really need her, make sure you keep it professional. And whatever you do, don’t let it affect the investigation. I’ve seen defense attorneys tear agents apart based on affairs they’ve had.”
“I’m not married, it can’t be an affair.”
“You know what I mean. Just don’t let it get in the way, sir.” Rick stood up and said, “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll keep you posted on Williams.”
Gio turned back to the windows. It took roughly three hours to get to his field office from Philadelphia. A long drive. Sarah didn’t have a car, and Gio had asked someone at the Philadelphia field office to drive her down. He checked the clock on his phone: she should’ve been here by now.
Murder 42 - A Thriller (Sarah King Mysteries Book 2) Page 4