by Dale Mayer
Just then, his beloved Bessie hit the guardrail, flipped on her side, and slid across the road. He blinked and tried to focus, only he could see nothing but a reddish black mist.
The effort pushed him over the edge and he knew no more.
Chapter 5
Celina opened her eyes and bolted upright. She stared into the cloudy gray world of her room. Normally she saw enough to see blurry shadows with light and dark playing games with her mind. Right now there wasn’t even that much going on, but the hair on the back of her neck was standing straight up and shivers rippled down her spine. Something was wrong. Fear reached up and grabbed her by the throat.
Damn. This odd warning system had only gotten stronger since her blindness. Before it had been a purely peripheral sensation. Now it was an instant prodding in her psyche. She just didn’t know what to do with it.
She closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and tried to relax. And thought she heard something. Like a heavy breath. Her eyes flew open, her gaze darting around the room helplessly. She held her breath and listened. But there was no movement. No more breathing. Nothing shifted except for the ice hardening in her stomach. She sat up again. “Hello?”
She tilted her head at the eerie silence. She swore she’d heard someone. But who? And why?
Her chest expanded in a huge gasp as she realized she’d been holding her breath again. She took a second deep breath. She couldn’t hide her presence. If someone else was here, then they knew she was too. She slipped from her bed and snugged up against the wall, her breathing low and shallow. She carefully walked the perimeter of her bedroom and then moved out into her small apartment. She knew the person was gone. Inside. But her mind and psyche weren’t on the same page. She’d never be able to go back to bed until she knew for sure.
It took a good ten minutes to check the nooks and crannies of her apartment before she made her way back to her bedroom. She slipped under the covers but couldn’t relax her mind. She checked the time. It was four in the morning. A horrible thought struck. She grabbed her phone and called the hospital to check on Jacob’s status. He was doing well, but another member of her group hadn’t done so well. He’d died less than an hour ago.
James. She knew him, but not as well as other members of the group. He played trumpet and had an online company with his wife.
That there’d been yet another fatality in that stupid accident really bothered her. When would this be enough? The driver of the pickup was also dead. Then again, there was a good possibility that he’d been dead before he’d hit the pub. He’d possibly had a heart attack before the crash. She certainly didn’t blame him, but she wanted to blame someone, anyone, for the senseless loss of life. James was a young man. Bruce was older but full of life, and had so much more to give.
Cindy. She’d been a blessing to be around. Always with a smile on her face and in her voice. She had a ready wit that often caught people unaware.
Celina had been blessed to know these people since before her accident, and she knew their faces. Cindy had been beautiful inside and out.
Before she realized it tears were rolling down her cheeks. She sniffled them back. Heavy emotions sent her energy even further off track, and those ghostly friends in her life tended to know instinctively when she was upset. Both physical friends and ghostly friends, although there weren’t many non-ghostly friends left. Jacob was one of the few.
“Damn right we know. What’s upsetting you now?” Mimi asked. She’d become the spokesperson for a less-developed group of ghosts.
“Another friend died tonight from the accident,” she whispered through the tears.
“And as we keep telling you – and you more than most should know – death is not an ending.”
“It is for him – and me in a way. I might be able to see his ghost, but that’s not a good thing. Like you, he should move on.”
She reached for a box of tissues sitting on the corner of her night table. “So it is an ending. And one that didn’t need to happen.” She crumpled up the tissue and wiped her eyes. Half done, she lowered the tissue. “It’s all so senseless.”
“Unless you believe in karma, or God, or fate. If you believe in a grand plan at all, then you have to accept that this happened for a reason.”
“I won’t accept that,” Celina cried. “Bruce didn’t need to die like this. Neither did Cindy. Or any of them.”
“You don’t know that. It’s not for you to know. It’s for you to accept.”
“I don’t want to accept it.” That was the core issue. She was losing friends all over the place and she wasn’t ready to accept that. And underlying all that was the knowledge that she wasn’t ready to accept her own state.
A weird blankness filled the room.
Mimi gasped and poofed into the air without warning. Celina already knew what was wrong.
The cold creeping into her soul told her she had another visitor.
That’s easy to fix, came that horrid, smug voice. I’ve told you time and time again. Let me see.
Never. She rolled over, pulled the covers up over her shoulders, and blocked that hateful voice out of her head.
*
Stefan washed his hands, but the very effort of cleaning them was almost too much for his exhausted body. The painting was behind him. He didn’t bother looking. This painting had been an outlet for his frustration and nothing else. And it had done its job. Tension no longer rode his shoulders like a steel bar. He was physically tired but mentally calm. Now he’d take a quick glance at Brandt’s file and deliver answers in the morning. He picked up the file and walked upstairs to his bedroom. He dropped the file on his bed and headed to the shower. Feeling clean and refreshed, he collapsed on his bed and opened the file.
Five minutes later sleep was the last thing on his mind.
He reached for the phone and called Brandt. A sleepy voice answered. “He’s not here, Stefan.”
He glanced at the clock. It was six a.m. Damn, where had the night gone?
“Sam?” His voice gentled. This woman who’d gone through so much was a kindred spirit to Stefan’s soul. She was small, gentle, with an inner core of steel. She needed the steel to have survived the horror in her life. “I’m sorry, I thought I called his cell phone. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s all right,” she said, the smile in her voice warm and caring. “The dreams have been tough lately. I’m glad you pulled me out.”
“Brandt mentioned you were having trouble sleeping. What kind of dreams?” he asked, his voice surprisingly sharp. He immediately apologized. “Sorry, it’s been a long day and night. Something is happening but I can’t pinpoint what.”
“I’m just getting snippets myself. Not strong enough to see who or what, just lots of blood. But not any one scene. One time it’s a car accident – at least I think that’s what it was. Another time it seems to be a surgery happening. Then it’s a suicide. Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on. Tonight I felt as if my chest was so hot it was like it was on fire and I was gripping a steering wheel from a big truck.” She sighed. “It’s weird to connect to accidents or suicides. That’s so not me.”
“Maybe your skills are changing again,” he suggested, “now that you’re learning more control.”
“Great. Not.” She yawned again. “Sorry, I’ve been trying to sleep for a couple of hours, and it looks like I’m ready to try again.”
“Then do. I’ll call Brandt at the office.”
“Good night,” she murmured, then it sounded to Stefan as if she dropped the phone as she fell off to sleep.
He smiled. At least she’d sleep. Like himself, Sam often found sleep hard to come by. He redialed, getting Brandt this time.
“Thought you were going home.”
Brandt snapped in disgust, “I did and got called back in. Did you sleep?”
Stefan snorted and walked to his studio in the back. He flicked on the light and stared at the massive bloody heart in the middle of his canvas. “I painted a
bloody valentine scene tonight when I came home from the hospital. I’m trying to figure out if this is related.”
“Why would it be?” Brandt asked. “I’m sure any shrink would have no trouble associating the painting to Celina being in an accident tonight.”
“Except I spoke with your lovely wife about her dreams and now I’m wondering if my painting and her visions are connected. I need details. And how did you get all this information on the different cases anyway?”
“Grant.”
Stefan nodded. It’s what he’d expected. His FBI friend was always on top of the weird and wonderful cases.
“And how did he know what to look for?”
“I was trying to find something to match up to Sam’s nightmares. She’s so much stronger now that she’s learning to control her abilities. It makes my job much harder. Now the victims can be anywhere across the country – or in different countries.”
“And that had been my initial interpretation. Except… damn it.” Stefan leaned closer and said in outrage, “Someone else painted a scalpel into my picture.”
Brandt gasped, then laughed and laughed. “Oh my, is that Alex’s sister messing around in your life again?”
“Probably.” Stefan turned around to find his pixie of a ghost, the sister of a dear friend, sitting crossed-legged on his paints. “Did you do this?” he growled at her.
She frowned. “So what if I did? It needed something.”
He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t doing anything specific. This was an exercise in stress relief.” He paused and eyed her carefully. “Why a scalpel?”
She shrugged. “It looked like the heart had been cut out, so I figured a surgeon’s knife was the perfect accompaniment.” With a glare at the painting she added, “But I didn’t do a very good job, did I? I keep trying to be as good as you, but it’s not the same look at all.”
He shook his head. “If you want to paint, then I’ll get you a canvas of your own and you can paint all you want. Just please leave my paintings alone.”
She straightened, obviously offended. She glared at him and when he sighed heavily and was about to apologize, she poofed into thin air.
“Damn,” Stefan snapped at the empty space where she’d been. “Stop running away when I’m talking to you.”
“Did she disappear on you?” Brandt snickered. “She’s a cheeky kid, isn’t she?”
“That she is. It’s like she’s moved right in and taken over. She says she’s needed.” He groaned. “Not sure what I’ll do if she decides to take up cooking.”
Brandt went off in gales of laughter.
“Glad you think that’s funny.” Stefan glared into the phone. He didn’t get why his teenage ghost Lissa was such a source of amusement to everyone but him. He cared about her, but she was a ghost for crying out loud. She was supposed to go home. Instead, she said that now that her sister Alex, one of Stefan’s psychic friends, was fine then Stefan was her next mission. Maybe after he finally got his life together then she’d consider leaving. For now she was having too much fun to go.
Stefan wanted to throw his phone across the room. Ghosts weren’t supposed to haunt him. But in her case it was out of sisterly love that she stayed, and honestly Stefan didn’t quite know what to do with her. And therefore did nothing.
“So why did you call?” Brandt asked. “If I remember correctly none of these cases involve hearts.”
Stefan pulled his thoughts together. He’d seen something in the files. “Is there any correlation between the victims all being in some kind of accident? Several mentioned that they were in rehab or physiotherapy.”
“Hmmm.” Brandt said, his voice deepening. Stefan could see Brandt’s frown in his mind’s eye. Could hear him tapping away on a keyboard.
“One had a car accident,” Brandt added helpfully. “Another went crazy at three thousand feet in a small plane and opened the door. So that hardly counts.”
“And what makes you think these men had anything hokey about their cases?”
“Sam. Yet I can’t find anything to connect these cases. There are a few others that I have sent for more information on but I’m still waiting. Can you pick up anything?”
“Not yet.” Stefan shook his head as he walked to the back of his studio. “Keep adding to the pile if you think more are involved. In fact, better widen the search.”
“So you do think there is something wrong here?” Brandt said in relief. “I knew it.”
“Well, I don’t know it. But I’m willing to keep that door open with both Sam and I triggering to hearts today.”
He hung up and stared at the picture he’d had sitting in his studio for several weeks now. It was one that had been causing him a lot of problems and he didn’t know why – except it was unfinished. The violent scene of a car accident was painted on the same day that one of the victim’s in Brandt’s file perished in a horrific accident of his own.
Stefan’s painting was an exact match to the photo in the file.
Yet for some reason he hadn’t been ready to share that eerie fact with Brandt.
In Stefan’s world timing was everything. And there was no such thing as coincidence.
*
Clarity. He needed more clarity. Each time he managed a step in the right direction he slid – not as much as before – but still too much. He needed to focus. He didn’t know how much time he had. How much effort would be required to complete his plan. And he couldn’t help but feel like he was running out of time.
Out of energy.
Maybe each step was cutting off a piece of deadwood and allowing the rest of him to regroup, but maybe it was also diminishing his energy.
That couldn’t happen.
He was supposed to grow stronger by doing this.
He needed to be stronger. More powerful. He needed to do more – just so he could do one thing.
Revenge – at all costs.
He had to hang on to that anger.
It was all he had left.
Chapter 6
Some mornings sucked. Celina woke to a gloomy heart and an achy soul. Her head hurt, her eyes burned, and every time she shifted under the duvet her body screamed. She’d forgotten to take something to relax her muscles and now they’d locked down. She hadn’t been badly injured in last night’s accident, but her body was still crying in protest of any movement this morning. She’d love a hot bath, but likely only had time for a shower.
Then she remembered that the concert was no longer happening tonight. That meant all the practice and preparation and rehearsals weren’t happening today either. Damn. A wave of grief for her friends washed over her.
Maybe that bath was the answer after all. She slipped out from under the covers and reached for the clock. She pushed the button and listened to it read out the time. It was past nine in the morning already. She never slept in, always careful to go to bed well before midnight. She hated the hour between midnight and one. That’s when the weirder things in her life had happened. Or at least it was when more of the uninvited ghostly visitors decided to stop by. She stood slowly and winced as her back protested. She’d start the bath running and do a few stretches while waiting.
She walked to the bathroom and as she reached the open doorway a horrible stench hit her. Her hand went to her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She barely managed to stop herself from gagging. Didn’t want to take another breath – she choked on that smell. She knew that smell.
She knew it deep inside. It was the smell of blood. Lots of blood.
She stared down at her hands, fingers splayed wide in front of her. And could see nothing. Of course. She shuddered at what could be in front of her. Something someone else had done. Something someone had left for her to find. Only she’d never be able to see it.
Let me see. Anticipation licked along his nasty voice.
Never, she whispered in horror. What have you done?
Nothing much. Nothing that didn’t need doing. And nothing here – maybe.
S
he shuddered, in fear, in revulsion, at what she’d find in her so-private space. Her invaded space. This was her home. She needed it to be exactly as she left it, day in and day out. She knew how many paces from her bedroom to the bathroom, from her bathroom to her kitchen counter. Blindly she reached out to the closest wall for support.
Someone had defiled her space. The who and why eluded her. Nausea clung to the back of her throat. She daren’t go inside the room. Who knew what had happened here? She tilted her head to one side and listened hard. There were no sounds, no breathing, no water dripping. Just silence.
Just like in the middle of the night.
Her breath coming out in panicked gasps, her emotions tumbling in circles, she retraced her steps to her phone.
An hour later Celina, now fully dressed, huddled in the corner of her kitchen. She was completely surrounded by chaos. Her apartment was awash with strangers, horrible noises, and conversations that were guaranteed to set her teeth on edge and made her wish she was anywhere but in here listening to the voices going on around her as if she were deaf, not blind.
“She’s blind – she couldn’t have done this.”
“Blind doesn’t mean stupid. It wouldn’t have taken any strength to do this.”
“But she’d have needed to see. It’s only blood. But the way it’s written…”
“Besides, she’s not covered in blood. It’s not like you could stay clean doing something like this.”
“She could have cleaned up in the kitchen.”
“The techs checked. The sink and drain tested clear for blood.”
Celina sank deeper into herself. So far no one had asked her about anything specific. She opened the door, pointed to the bathroom, and then she’d lost control of the situation. She buried her face in her hands. She didn’t know what had happened in the last twenty-four hours, but she’d had enough already. She wanted normalcy back.
Whatever that meant.
Since her accident and multiple surgeries there’d been no such thing.