The Collector (Emergence Book 1)

by Kelly Lynn Colby

  Stella’s raised eyebrow reminded me she needed my order. The lump in my throat blocked anything from coming out. Instead, I pointed to the matzah soup.

  “One matzah soup. And for you?” She turned to Amelia.

  “Well, in this topsy turvy world, I guess I’ll have Schmutzy fries.”

  With the menus in hand and the promise of more water on her return, Stella swung her hips to the kitchen.

  Gina and Amelia both turned their eyes to me. Gina waiting for my confessions. Amelia waiting for an explanation. My fingers kneaded the gloves in my lap. These two were my oldest friends. They’d stuck with me through all kinds of quirky things and accepted my lame excuses or got by on nothing at all. They never judged me or questioned me. And I’d never been honest with them. I could at least come clean about what I’d seen Sunday night.

  Amelia broke the silence. She never could stand to stay quiet for long. “Okay. First, I’m so grateful you two didn’t drag me to something as boring as looking at art, but—”

  “Oh, it wasn’t boring.” Gina took a violent sip of her water, splashing a bit on the table. Usually, the mess would drive her crazy. She ignored it. “Some angry guy showed up and Fauna spilled her drink on him on purpose.”

  I tried to interrupt, but Gina put a hand up to silence me.

  “Then a police detective happened to be there and knew Fauna. I thought she was going to be arrested. Then Fauna called him by name.” She shifted her focus to me. “You didn’t seem surprised to see him, but you didn’t give me a single heads up.” A tear dropped down her round cheek. “I was so scared, and you would hardly look at me, and I didn’t know what to do.”

  The last words came out as a whisper. I reached out and covered Gina’s hand with my own. Her anxiety throbbed in my temples. What I had sensed as anger was really anxiety. Body language could be so confusing sometimes. No wonder I couldn’t get through to her. I tried to make her forgive me instead of making her feel safe.

  Amelia put her arm over Gina’s shoulders, but her focus fell on me. “Okay. Your turn.”

  “I was surprised Detective Flores was at Albert Johnson’s auction, but I shouldn’t have been. I should have told you, Gina.” I removed my hand from hers. It felt like such an invasion to read her emotions when I’d already kept things from her today.

  Amelia pulled out a tissue from Gina’s bag and handed it to her. “Isn’t Albert Johnson that guy who made that horrible statue you bought Sunday?”

  “He is, or was. He’s the artist guy Stella was talking about. He was murdered that night.”

  After giving her nose a good swipe, Gina leaned forward. “You told me he died, but you didn’t tell me he was murdered.”

  Always the logical one, Amelia angled her head at the TV. “If he was a murder victim, it explains why the cop was there.” She leaned forward like Gina. “But it doesn’t explain why he knew you.”

  I was being interrogated all over again. This time, I’d asked for it. “I tracked down Albert Johnson. There was something about the piece that really spoke to me. I just had to talk to the artist.”

  I shifted my glass from hand to hand to avoid looking them in the eyes. “I found his dead body on the floor of his kitchen.”

  Gina gasped and held her mouth with both hands.

  Amelia’s hand fell to the table, bouncing the bowl of pickles. “You what?”

  “When I got to his condo and knocked, the door swung open.” The memory of the dozens of remnants near the door inundating me with their imprints invaded my thoughts. What would they think if I told them everything? “I’m the one who called 911.”

  With her gaze focused on the table and her head shaking slightly, Amelia said, “But I talked to you Tuesday. You sounded, well, normal. You didn’t say anything about finding a dead body.”

  “I know. I know.” My head fell into my hands as the vinegar from the pickles soured in my stomach. “I hadn’t quite processed it all yet.”

  “No. That’s not good enough.” Sensing calm and cool Gina freaking out hurt me physically. “There’s something else you’re not telling us. Otherwise, why would you drag me to the auction of the artist whose body you found?”

  Maybe this was a horrible idea. I never should have involved her in any of this. “You’re not wrong. There’s definitely something I’m not telling you.” My knees banged together under the table as sitting behind the booth became too confining. I longed to pace.

  Obviously, tired of waiting for me to explain, Gina turned sideways to face Amelia directly. “That detective questioned Fauna like he thought she might have had something to do with the Collector’s death. He no doubt suspected her of something.”

  My head shot up, and I waved my hands. “I had nothing to do with his death, I promise. I would never lie about something like that.”

  The rash move might have knocked my water glass if Amelia hadn’t caught it. “Look, we know you’re not violent. You almost had a heart attack when you accidentally hit that suicidal squirrel last year.”

  “There’s something else though.” I had to tell them. I couldn’t give up searching for others with the curse now that I knew I wasn’t the only one. Weird shit was going to keep happening and I couldn’t keep it all from my best friends.

  But if I confessed the true secret, would they believe me?

  Stella gave me a bit more grace period when she brought our orders to the table. “Here ya go, ladies.”

  Her voice sounded off. When I looked up and reached for my bowl, I’d forgotten I didn’t have my gloves on. My fingers brushed hers and all of my muscles squeezed at the same time. My jaw locked so hard I bit my tongue. Whatever had happened between Stella taking our orders and returning with them had sent the waitress into deep grief.

  I swallowed heavily and blinked to force my muscles to unclench. “What’s wrong, Stella?”

  Her voice turned ragged as she barely handed over the last plate before she had to dive in her pocket for a napkin to blow her nose. “He’s dead. I can’t believe it. He was the best of the best. Even predicted my sister’s cancer early and saved her life.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  Stella turned to the TV over the deli.

  A blonde anchor in a blue and orange dress reported, “Renowned Psychic, George Martinez, was murdered inside his home today. His body was discovered this evening. The police have no suspects at this time.”

  As the studio anchor droned on, a picture of a middle-aged man with pot-marked skin, deep brown eyes, and a fedora popped up beside her.

  Holy shit. That was the man from the precinct who creeped me out. No wonder he looked familiar to me. He’d been on daytime TV more than once. Jeff said his wife followed everything the psychic did. Why had he given me that pointed stare Monday morning? Was Albert’s death connected to this recent murder?

  When I was younger and still searching for answers, I met as many mediums, psychics, and fortune tellers as I could. Not one could do what I could. After that, I’d written the whole community off as frauds. Maybe my exploring hadn’t been extensive enough. What if George Martinez’s reputation came from reading people’s emotions? Holy shit, could he be cursed? How many of us were there?

  The screen flipped to a reporter on a street I recognized in the Heights. The live feed showed police cars and yellow tape blocking off an area around a modest house. All of its lights were on like a beacon begging for help.

  The smart-dressed female reporter spoke in the jilted, unnatural way required of newscasters. Her unemotional voice did nothing to calm the turmoil growing in my gut. “With no official statement from the police as of yet, our sources have told us that George Martinez was found in his home by his housekeeper with multiple stab wounds.”

  My fingers tingled at my fierce grip on the table. Could this be a coincidence?

  Any doubt at the connection vanished when the camera zoomed in on the scene. In the front window stood one of the Collector’s pieces.

  Chapter Twelv
e

  After lying to them before, I wasn’t going to lie now. “I have to go to the scene.”

  Gina looked shocked. “Why?”

  Amelia stood up to see the TV better. “That looks a lot like your statue, Fauna.”

  “It’s definitely one of the Collector’s. It has to be.” I swallowed hard as the smells and sights of Albert lying on his kitchen floor flashed through my mind. Would those ever fade? “And they were both stabbed.”

  With hands on either side of her head, Gina rocked gently in her seat. “That’s not okay. But you don’t need to go. Let the cops handle it.”

  I shoved my velvet gloves back on my hand, all sign of an appetite gone. “You don’t understand everything, and I don’t even know where to begin, but I do know I have to go to the scene. I might be able to help.”

  The idea that I could help came out of my mouth before it had fully formed in my mind. If Detective Flores was there and I could convince him to let me in, maybe I could touch something and get a better look at the murderer. There was no such thing as coincidence, right? How many brilliant minds had repeated that mantra? Who was I to argue? If there were no coincidences, then these two with the same pieces of art, taken from the world by the same method, had to be connected. I promised Albert Johnson justice and I would not neglect my duty in achieving it.

  My girlfriends stared at me as I pulled $60 from my wallet and put it on the table. “You two stay and eat. I’m going to call an Uber.”

  “Nice try.” Amelia pulled her keys from her pocket. “If you’re set on going, I’m taking you. I know there’s something you’re leaving out.”

  Gina pushed her plate back and scooted out of the booth seat. “I’m going too. You said there was one more thing. I want to hear it.”

  I grabbed the cash to leave at the register on our way out. “Okay, fine.”

  In the car, I sat in the back. Amelia kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror with her judgy eyes, while Gina put on lipstick and powdered her nose like she couldn’t have her hands idol. I hadn’t felt more like a child punished by her parents ever. My dad had died when I was too young to have a memory of him, and my mom treated me like I was her sister, not her daughter.

  Dammit. I had to lie one more time. I feared I was getting good at it. “The last bit I left out, the part I was trying to get to, was I think I saw the killer fleeing the scene.”

  Gina dropped her lipstick. “You what?”

  Amelia’s eyes stared at the mirror a bit too long and she almost missed the turn.

  I squeezed the seatbelt so I wouldn’t slip into the door. “I don’t know it was the killer. I mean, it was hours after Albert was already dead according to Detective Flores’s check of my alibi. He’ll probably be calling you later, Amelia.” Yet, I did know it was the killer since I saw him stabbing Albert through the artist’s last memory. How was I going to tell that to my friends? “But I did see a man run away as I entered Albert’s building.”

  Gina nodded as she rocked gently in the passenger seat. “That explains the questions the detective asked. He wanted to know if you recognized that angry dude at the auction.”

  “Right.” At least, Gina seemed satisfied. Amelia, though, had her lips so pierced that I wasn’t sure words could escape if she wished to speak.

  Flashing red and blue lights and a bright white one lit up a dark street we drove passed.

  “There,” I said, though Amelia must have seen it at the same time because she already had her blinker on to do a U-turn.

  She pulled up next to the side street without turning into it. “Why don’t you get out here?” Without even putting the car in park, Amelia crossed her arms and looked out the side window refusing to look at me.

  The lights called to me, even as my conscience pulled at my conviction. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow night.”

  “Wait, Fauna.” Gina moved to unclick her seatbelt.

  Amelia grabbed her hand and shook her head. “Let her go. She obviously has secrets she needs to tend to. You’ll call an Uber home, right?”

  Her eyes met mine and all I saw in their soft green tint was pain. She knew I was lying and was hurt.

  “I’ll get an Uber.”

  As my best friends drove off, I stalked to the crime scene. I’d make it up to them. If I just found the killer and cleaned up this whole affair, I could finally tell them the whole truth. If I found someone else with this curse, Amelia and Gina would be more likely to believe me, right?

  The scene swarmed with reporters in front of cameras and officers in and out of the modest home. The statue of what looked like an elephant pieced together just like my Walter sat large and proud in the front window, like George Martinez also searched for others.

  With one hand on a traffic cone, I wondered if I could sneak into the home to get a quick read on the place.

  Of course, I might be seeing patterns where none existed. This murder might be a coincidence. It could have nothing to do with Albert at all. Or worse. Someone could be targeting us. Fear turned my empty stomach into a cauldron of acid.

  I dismissed my paranoid musings. If I couldn’t find other cursed people, how could a killer hunt us down? One way or another, I wouldn’t learn anything if I couldn’t get inside.

  The police officer by the barrier yawned. I liked sleepy people. Their feelings tended to be muted.

  “Excuse me, Officer?” I twirled my hair on my finger. A little flirting never hurt my cause before. “What happened? I was on my way home—I live right over there—and traffic stopped me cold.” Shit, I really was getting good at this lying bit.

  Officer Yawner perked up a bit as I batted my eyelashes at him. “I wasn’t first on scene.” He leaned in close, and my nipples perked. How was he feeling lustful at a murder scene? At least that was an emotion I could work with, while still in my slinky dress. “But I heard over the radio that George Martinez, the famous psychic, was stabbed to death in his own home.”

  A deep voice called from the front lawn. “Officer, bring her over here.”

  Around the big man’s body, I spotted Detective Collins pointing at me. A flash of excitement rushed through me. Surely, the City of Houston had more than two homicide detectives. If he was here, that meant the two murders must be related, right?

  I patted the uniformed officer with my protected hand, a bit of disappointment floated between us. A reporter tried to squeeze in behind me, but the cop stopped her with a smooth sidestep.

  Collins met me in the middle of the street, hands on his hips, with a disappointed father look on his face. “It wasn’t your voice on the 911 call this time. How are you connected to all of this?”

  A quick glance of the general vicinity didn’t reveal Flores anywhere. For some reason, I felt safer with him.

  Collins’s dark expression demanded an answer. “I saw the Collector statue in the window and I had to know if…” he was cursed too.

  He took my elbow and guided me toward the side of the house, out of the view of the cameras I suspected. “It’s quite a coincidence that we run into you at the first victim’s gallery auction and now, that same night, at a second victim’s home.” My stomach clenched, sensing the anger laced into his accusations.

  I shook him off me. “Don’t touch me.”

  With one hand on his belted cuffs, Collins’s other hand flexed like he wanted to restrain me. “I will arrest you for interfering in an investigation. I don’t care what Flores says. You’re definitely hiding something.”

  “Fauna Young, what are you doing here?” Flores’s voice turned both our heads to the back of the house.

  That was when I saw through the brightly lit bedroom window.

  Tied to the headboard and footboard, like some sort of sacrifice, laid the naked George Martinez.

  The scene was much cleaner than Albert’s murder. The mattress soaked up much of the blood and the walls were almost spotless. Either the murderer cleaned up after himself this time, or he took more care with much less
chaotic violence. Nevertheless, the mutilation of the body was so extensive, it covered almost all the exposed skin on his torso. The weirdest part of the scene was George’s face.

  He was smiling.

  The pickles swirling in my stomach threatened to come up.

  Detective Collins answered for me. “Found her hanging back in the crowd. She was probably trying to figure out what we know.”

  My cheeks had to be bright red based on how warm they felt. I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking as another gruesome scene burnt itself into my memory. Why was I fighting to experience this horror?

  Flores’s focus flicked between me and the window. He moved between me and the graphic scene and gestured toward the street. “I’m sure I’ll have questions for you later, Ms. Young.”

  Collins scoffed and headed to the front door. “I don’t know what you see that I don’t, but she’s your problem, man.”

  Flores motioned to a uniformed officer. “For now, Officer Johnson will make sure you get home safely.”

  I was much too numb to argue with anyone. I’d seen enough dead bodies for a lifetime in just three days. I wasn’t giving up, but it was time for Plan B.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Turned out, Plan B involved me, unable to sleep, deciding to sneak back to George Martinez’s house before the sun rose. A few reporters were set up for the five o’clock news and one squad car guarded the house out front. There was no ambulance and no Ford Fusion. At least something had gone my way.

  After my nightmare-inducing view, I knew where the bedroom was. Assuming Flores couldn’t walk through walls, there must be a back door. I slipped over the neighbor’s fence and dashed to George’s covered patio. My hands shook as I reached for the doorknob. Half of me hoped it was locked, ending this crazy trajectory I’d found myself on.

  No such luck. The knob turned, and the door pushed open without a single creak.

  As I passed through the modest kitchen, waves disturbed the air around me. This felt more like the buzzing from the antique store and Albert’s doorstop and, currently, my townhouse.