Eyes to the Soul

by Dale Mayer

  “She’s very unusual,” Stefan said, grinning, making Celina realize with a shock that she’d spoken out loud.

  Lissa’s light, tinkling laugh resounded around the room. She said proudly, “I’m learning to paint.”

  Stefan sighed. “Did you work on an empty canvas this time, or did you decide to add to one of mine again?”

  “Ha! You were very specific about that.” Her tone lightened as she added, “I made my own painting.” Now her voice came from the far side of the room. Celina turned her head and watched as the sprite of a ghost moved through a doorway.

  “If you will excuse me, Celina, I’ll go see what the minx is up to.”

  “Not a problem,” she smiled, thinking about a ghost painting and wishing she could see it. “I’ll wait here.”

  “My guitar is beside you on the left if you want something to play with.” Then he walked away. “Lissa, I’m coming.”

  Celina couldn’t imagine a ghost that was as developed as Lissa. She herself was always trying to get her ghosts to leave the physical plane but she couldn’t. They all gave her that same long, drawn-out look of disbelief that such a thing was possible. Some had managed to leave, so she knew it was possible. She needed to remind Stefan about letting Lissa go. It would be in her best interests to move on.

  Curious, she reached down and picked up the guitar. She plucked a few strings, enough to know that Stefan had not scrimped on quality for his equipment. Happy to have something in her hand and not feeling quite so useless, she let her fingers drift across the strings.

  *

  “Does she know what she’s doing?” Lissa asked.

  Stefan studied her, the petulant look in her young features reminding him of her physical age.

  “I’m sure she understands that she’s playing the guitar,” he said humorously.

  “Very funny. As if you don’t know what else she’s doing.” With a snigger she moved off slightly.

  Stefan looked around this studio. “Where is your painting?

  Lissa moved to the far end of the studio. She’d picked the small canvas on a tabletop easel. He was curious to see what a ghost would paint and why. He looked at her face as he walked around to see the painting for the first time. She had a moody look as if unsure what she’d painted herself. He turned to look at the picture. His eyebrows shot up. “What’s this?” he asked.

  Keeping his gaze on the simple, single item on the canvas, he waited for her explanation. When there wasn’t one he asked, “Why this image, Lissa?”

  “I don’t know. It just seemed to fit.”

  And with that she disappeared.

  “Seemed to fit?” Stefan wasn’t sure what to say about that. He studied the painting for a long time then turned to return to the living room and Celina. But the crude image of a pill bottle – open, empty, thrown on the bedside, a man lying still beside it – haunted him long after.

  *

  Brandt sat back and rolled his shoulders. He’d been trying to figure out the connection between Sam’s list of cases. If there was a connection. He had to admit by now that he was floundering, trying to find something. He loved Sam to distraction, and he had the utmost respect for her ability and those that Stefan demonstrated time and time again. But why then was there nothing to be found here?

  None of the cases had anything in common. And that couldn’t be.

  The probabilities said that wasn’t to be either. The victims were both male and female. They were of all ages, from the youngest, who appeared to be Eric to the oldest, an eighty-four-year-old woman. They were all in this area or from nearby states. Thankfully he had Grant to call on once the cases crossed state lines.

  He’d talk to the captain if there was anything to tell him. The captain knew about Sam. Knew of Stefan. So that wasn’t a problem. But just because these two psychics were in agreement that something was going on didn’t mean he had the evidence to prove the theory. He’d already pushed the limits a year ago by following the trail of a serial killer that no one else believed existed. To do it again would be an interesting experience. He normally saw patterns where others didn’t, hence his trail following The Bastard, but now? What pattern was there here? None. And that bugged him.

  Everything had a pattern.

  He got up, cleaned off the board against his wall, and started to make a chart. Victims, age, method of death, location, and then on instinct, the type of pain Sam experienced in each case.

  His phone rang about half an hour later. He checked his watch as he answered. “Grant, what’s up?”

  “Found a couple more cases that might be connected.”

  “Damn. Send them to me.”

  “I’m putting them into an email for you.”

  “Good. How many cases?”

  “Three over the last year. Nothing before then.”

  “That fits with what Sam’s been telling me. Something happened a year ago to trigger these events.”

  “Let me know when you find it.” He hung up.

  Brandt should be heading back to Sam but she was working all day at the vet hospital. Much to his pride and joy she’d been asked to get involved in the animals’ patient care, helping the doctors to assess their needs with her extra senses. It was what she’d always wanted to do, to find a way to help people, not just deal with the ugly side of her talent.

  He checked his watch again, waiting for Grant’s email. “Ah, there it is.” He printed off the three sheets, picked them up, and walked back to his chart. One more in Portland way back when, a car accident. Another about three months ago. The woman walked into heavy traffic and was killed, but also caused a hell of a car accident that injured four and killed another two people.

  He stopped and stared. Then snatched up his sheets and added a second column. This time, he added in the number of other fatalities involved in each victim’s death.

  When he was done he sat back, feeling a heavy punch to his gut when he realized what he was looking at. In most cases, they’d taken out several other people with them.

  Interesting.

  Often a death was a single fatality. A heart attack. Even a car accident. But in many of these cases, even what would appear to be a suicide managed to kill several other people. Not every person had taken someone with them – but enough had to take note. He didn’t have the answer, but he knew this was important.

  Maybe even key.

  Chapter 23

  Celina wove a colorful band of sound through the space in her head. She hoped it was wrapping around Stefan’s living room and that he’d be able to see it and enjoy it. She wanted to impress him, but hated that she was still insecure enough to want that. He was a well-known and respected figure. She was a nobody. Sure, she made music, played with a well-recognized symphony, but she herself wasn’t noticeable in a crowd – except for the space she took up due to her stick. Melancholic, drifting toward depression, her music changed tone and tempo, sliding into a deeper, painful rhythm that almost made her weep with the sadness.

  “Why do you play such sad, depressing music?”

  Celina stilled. The teenage ghost. Of course it would be her. With the typical forthrightness of her age, she hadn’t heeded the sensitivity of the atmosphere and left Celina alone. Or along with most of her age group she didn’t care.

  “I was just feeling down,” Celina said lightly, placing the guitar beside her.

  “Uh-uh. I think it’s more than that. Your music is very alluring, you know. Most of the time it’s beautiful, then it became so sad it was painful to listen to.”

  Celina’s eyebrows shot up. “Sorry to hear that.” But she curled up with her knees tucked up beside her on the couch. Too bad she couldn’t curl up into a tiny ball and pull a blanket over her head. It had been a long time since she’d been called out over something. It felt like high school all over again.

  Then she laughed and realized something. Trust a teenager to make Celina regress. She’d hated high school, so Lissa was triggering all kinds of butt
ons. And that was just plain stupid. She smiled at the ghost. “So why do you stick around Stefan? Got a little crush on him?” she asked in a teasing tone, turning the tables on Lissa.

  “Him?” Lissa snickered. “He’s way too old. He’s like, your age.” And she disappeared.

  Celina winced. “Touché,” she said to the empty space where Lissa had been sitting.

  “Sorry about that. Lissa has taken me on as a type of project where she wants to see me settled before she leaves.”

  “Settled?” Celina winced. “Sounds very old-fashioned.”

  “Lissa was raised with old-fashioned values.”

  “And I’m assuming from her dislike of me that I don’t quite make the grade.”

  “I don’t think she dislikes you at all. I think she’s…” He paused to choose his words.

  She twisted her lips. “Don’t bother trying to make light of it. I have enough ghostly friends in this world. I certainly don’t mind if this one doesn’t want to be around me.”

  “It’s not that. She’s actually concerned about you.”

  “Concerned?” Celina said doubtfully.

  “Concerned. Yes. She felt there was a lot of power in your music and she’s afraid you could be…” He winced and added, “…abusing it.”

  Celina stared at him in shock. “Pardon?”

  He shrugged. “I suggest you don’t worry about it right now.”

  “I won’t,” she snapped, starting to dislike Lissa intensely. And what had looked to be an idyllic afternoon out with a nice man was starting to sound like something she’d like to cut short. “Maybe you should take me back to my apartment.”

  She sensed a certain stillness washing over him. She waited, wondering if she’d offended him now too. Seemed to be her day for screwing up.

  And she’d hoped for just the opposite.

  “I’d planned on making lunch first unless you truly want to leave. If you do, then of course I’ll take you home, but please don’t let Lissa be the cause.”

  Ouch. Was that all it took? A teenager to ruin her day out? How silly and adolescent was that of her?

  “How about a cup of tea or coffee to keep away the blues?” he asked.

  The air around her warmed up. She felt an almost invisible pat on her head. She frowned. Stefan or Lissa. Then deciding it wasn’t an issue – she refused to let anyone else set her off again – she smiled up at Stefan and said, “Please.”

  She wanted to slap herself for being such a fool. What was it about being around Stefan that made her feel so insecure and incompetent? She wasn’t. But he was so smooth and accomplished in everything he did, and the things he could do…wow.

  Here in this place she could sense the airiness, the light. And could imagine the stone and wood that would suit him so well. Here she felt small. Unsuitable was maybe a better word, and she hated that. Maybe that’s why she’d reacted badly to Lissa’s words.

  Music was her one great joy. Why would anyone say what Lissa had said? Unless, like she’d already guessed, Lissa was jealous of her relationship with Stefan. Not that they had much of one yet. But she could hope. He wouldn’t want anything to do with her if she didn’t calm down. Being blind was a handicap not everyone was suited to being around. They didn’t know how to act with blind people. How to talk. Stefan had no such trouble. He acted as if she were normal. He led her around with a casual competence she had to marvel at. Either he really understood or he had a lot of experience being around people who were injured or handicapped like she was.

  He seemed so assured. Everyone who she had met treated him with respect, affection, or in the case of the children, sheer idolatry. That had shown her such a different side to him. She wondered at his art. Would it be beautiful landscapes or something more like the work of the artist she’d spoken with at the gallery?

  She couldn’t imagine Stefan creating anything less than something completely stunning.

  Footsteps sound on her left. Tilting her head slightly she sniffed the air. “Tea?” She smiled. “Thank you, it smells wonderful.”

  “Dragon pearls. A delicate-tasting green tea.”

  Of course he’d be a connoisseur of tea as well. “Is there anything you don’t know or do well?”

  The tray landed heavily. “Lots. Why would you think that?”

  That startled a laugh out of her. “Everyone treats you with deference. I barely understand what you do with this energy work, but you are a consultant for the police and apparently a consultant with Dr. Maddy. You work at the children’s hospital in some form where the staff treat you with respect and the children love you. That much was obvious.”

  She listened to his long-drawn exhale. “Well?” she asked.

  *

  Stefan sat back down slowly, unsure of what to say. He was admittedly learning much about himself. He preferred to give silent answers with facial and hand gestures over talking. He couldn’t do that with Celina. He couldn’t show her his paintings and have her understand that side of him that so few saw. In many ways he was the one that felt incapable of shining in this relationship. Partly because it mattered so much. He was the one out of his depth. Unsure of how to proceed. And for him that was unsettling. Usually he knew the step in front of him. He didn’t need to know what was down the road as long as he kept his focus on the next step.

  Now as he stared at the woman who’d come to mean so much and yet sat so damn far away, he had no idea how or what that next step was going to be.

  He turned to gaze to his home, wondering if she’d like it. Without being able to actually see the floor-to-vaulted-ceiling river rock fireplace, the stained-glass windows that went up twenty feet. Without the visual it was hard to see how this place would suit her. She’d settled comfortably into the corner of the couch just fine, but other visitors would have wandered the place and made comments. She’d stayed in place. Even now she was still. Almost too still. Economy of movement was one thing. This…was something else altogether.

  “Are you all right?”

  He started. “Me? I’m fine. Just enjoying my tea.”

  Her lips twitched.

  “Okay, and thinking about you. How you are the one that amazes me. You sit with such grace, perfectly at home, not making small talk out of nerves or running on with endless conversation. You are content in the now, and that’s very special.”

  Her brows shot up. She shook her head and said in a dry tone, “What if I’m awestruck to be in your presence?”

  He spluttered the tea he’d been about to drink, then laughed and laughed. With a huge grin he said, “That’s priceless. I know there’s spirit in there, and I’d hate to think anything I do would ever dim it.”

  “Spirit?” She shook her head. “You haven’t seen anything but weak, wimpy behavior. Since I met you I’m either recovering, sleeping, or in shock.”

  “And you’ve been almost killed in an accident, lost close friends, been threatened by a home invasion, shared some of your deepest secrets, learned more than you’d ever wanted to learn about the predator stalking you… and yet still you sit here calm and poised in the face of it.” He knew she couldn’t see, but he felt compelled to lift his cup of tea in a salute to her.

  And damn if she didn’t lift hers in response.

  He lowered his cup and stared at her.

  “How did you know to do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Lift your cup in a toast type of response?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know. It just seemed the thing to do.”

  He let it go, but it was hard. There had to be something going on in there, but she didn’t appear to understand herself. And neither did he. It was puzzling.

  “And no, before you ask, I can’t see anything.” She took a sip of tea then lowered her arm, her face pensive. “Sometimes I can. A little, anyways.”

  “When and how much?” He sat forward and replaced his cup on the table. This might be the answer.

  “Sometimes when I focus really hard I
see shapes, like the world has a gray look to it. Not the real world, but a half-real world.”

  Interesting. And a clue to what was really happening. He said, “Does it hurt to do that?”

  She nodded. “Sometimes. I get headaches. I thought it might be from straining too much.”

  “Have you tried to do it without straining?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. If I could see like that more often it would be easier on me but because of the headaches I save it for emergencies.”

  “Understandable.” He leaned back. “Try right now. Look around my place and tell me what you see.”

  Her brows furrowed. “I’m not sure I want to. The headache part, remember?”

  “I can take care of the headache.” He waited, watching the indecision whisper across her features. “It’s an energy thing. I’m trying to see whether it’s energy you are using to see that way or if you are actually seeing with limited visibility.”

  She frowned and worried away on her bottom lip.

  “Not if the idea scares you.”

  “Of course it scares me,” she said. She considered it for another long moment and took a deep breath. “Fine. But you promise you will deal with the headache.”

  “I will.”

  He sat back and watched. She closed her eyes for a long moment.

  Stefan studied her energy and waited. She opened her eyes and…he grinned. …she stood up and out of her body in a faint reflection of her normal energetic form.

  She stood – looking at him from her etheric body.

  That’s why the gray world. That’s why the headache. She was doing it consciously but separate from the rest of her. He didn’t think she had any idea that she could get up and look around. As her eyes were a wonderful silvery blue now – not the silvery gray of the blind state – the look out of her eyes when she tried to see like this was almost the same, but her energy had shifted, making it something else altogether. He slipped his own energetic form free mentally and stood in front of her. She gasped and reared back. He held out his hand to her. And waited.

  She lifted her arm and confirmed what he already knew. She’d lifted her etheric arm, not her physical arm. He quickly reached out and grasped her etheric hand. He laughed, a rumble of joy whispering through him, whispering through her and rolling back toward him again.