Gypsy Cradle: a psychic paranormal thriller (The Gypsy Medium Series Book 2)

by Andrea Drew

  Connor opened the door wide and smiled, taking a step back, gesturing with a welcoming extended arm they should come in. “Good to see you both. Come in guys.”

  Christie and Ryan walked through, their steps slow and tentative.

  “Where’s Gypsy?” said Christie as they reached the lounge room. Through the alcove between the lounge and cooking area, Christie saw Gypsy in the kitchen, clouds of steam surrounding her. She took a swipe at a strand of hair as she jammed the lid back on a crockpot.

  “Oh, hi, guys,” she said, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Sorry I’m not more organized. But this wasn’t my creation; I’m just taking Connor’s pasta bake out of the oven. He’s a man of many talents.” Gypsy and Connor exchanged a brief look and Christie and Ryan stood awkwardly in the middle of the small but cozy living area.

  “Sit down, please” said Connor, gesturing toward the couch. “I’ll get you both a drink—beer, wine? Something to take the edge off, I think.” He bounded to the kitchen in long strides, swinging open a cupboard door to find the wine and glasses.

  Christie and Ryan sunk onto Gypsy’s purple couch. Ryan spread his arms along the back while Christie perched on the edge, chewing on her nails.

  “I don’t mind saying, I’m nervous as hell. I don’t feel like eating anything.” Christie was staring unseeing into a seemingly significant point on the floor.

  Gypsy squatted down in front of her, their eyes meeting.

  “Christie, me too, but you know what? I reckon we should try to eat a bit of something first, and then head into the study. Seriously, there’s no pressure. We can just talk for a bit if that’s easier…” Connor stood behind Gypsy, rubbing at his chest.

  “Okay.” Christie’s face crumpled and her voice broke. “I’m sorry, I…” Her mouth contorted and she brought her hands up to cover her face.

  Gypsy’s hand rested lightly on Christie’s forearm. “Come on, let’s go. We can talk in the study.”

  Ryan pushed himself off the couch and was by Christie’s side in a heartbeat.

  “Let’s go outside, mate, it’s a warm night,” said Connor. He headed toward the front porch, but Ryan remained fixated on Christie.

  “Babe, are you okay?” He put one arm on her shoulder, but Gypsy had one hand on Christie’s elbow, edging her toward the study.

  “She’ll be fine, Ryan, I promise,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  Chapter Three

  Saturday 19th January, 7.01pm

  My long-dormant mothering skills surprised me. Not that I think I’m an uncaring person, but when Christie opened up a crack and let the honesty flow I couldn’t help myself. I turned to mush and the old hen in me began to flap its wings.

  We sat around the desk in the study, Christie with head down and hair falling in her eyes. The combined smells of dust and paper and the familiar manila folders almost toppled off my desk. I moved one of the piles.

  Despite Christie being curled in on herself, I grasped a clammy hand, willing her to come back from the depths of wherever she was hiding.

  “Christie, honey,” I murmured. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

  And there she was. Holy shit. Over Christie’s right shoulder, I saw her. A child, a dark-haired figure, strands blowing across her face, eyes wide-open, arms by her side. Her stare didn’t waver, her wraith-like body a statue. Shit. Terrible timing. Whenever my ghostly visitors appeared regularly, I knew life would probably take a turn for the worse.

  I knew in that instant that this was Isabella she was back.

  Christie’s head came up slightly and she spoke through a curtain of hair. “I know I’ve been a bitch at times, Gypsy, but sometimes it all hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s too much. Dad, Mum, Aaron and now Grandpa. When will it end? Maybe Aaron’s right and I’m too soft…”

  With her left hand, she grabbed for the tissue box. She brought a tissue to her face and wiped her eyes. Scrunching it into a ball, she fumbled with a second tissue as she raised it to her nose.

  Isabella had lifted a hand and was pointing at Christie.

  −Tell her, Gypsy, tell her now. If you don’t, she’ll die and there’ll be nothing you can do to stop it. Do you really want Christie’s death on your conscience?

  What the hell?

  −Stop playing games, Isabella. Tell me who, how, when and where. Now.

  I’d mastered the art of maintaining my composure and ensuring the living had no idea I was multitasking with the dead. While my focus remained heavily on Christie and helping her through this moment, the intruding voice of Isabella insisted, continued to pierce its way through my mind.

  −Her hair has started falling out.

  −What? Whose hair, Christie’s?

  −Yes. She’s wondering if she has cancer like her grandfather Ray. She wants to talk to him but he’s not here anymore, he’s moved on.

  Christie was looking up through her hair. I realized I hadn’t responded to her.

  “I understand, Christie. It’s okay, you’ve been to hell and back these last few years. Aaron is wrong; you’re not soft at all. Anyone would be devastated by what happened. Anyone. You’re doing well, really well.” I stroked the palm of her hand and was rewarded with the hint of a smile.

  −You need to talk to her, Gypsy.

  −Will you stop? Can’t you see what’s going on here? She’s in pain, tormented, and I’m not going to talk to her about cancer or her grandfather unless she wants to.

  −But if you don’t warn her now she will be in agony, not just emotional but physical, too. The agony of death. Poisoning isn’t pretty.

  −You’re being overdramatic. Who are you to us, anyway? Why are you here?

  −I’ll get to that. For now, you need to tell her: someone close to her is planning to get her out of the way, a slow poison.

  Who is this someone? Isabella, this is ridiculous. You know that, right. My relationship with Christie has always been dicey. I don’t know how she’ll take something like this. She’ll probably never speak to me again.

  −I can’t give you the name of the murderer yet. He hasn’t shown himself. But the intention is there. Do you want her to die? You can save her, warn her. Stop this now before it becomes anything at all.

  −What do I do?

  −Ray can’t help here, he’s moved on. It’s about time Christie did, if she wants to save her own life.

  As Christie warmed up and responded to my words and touch, the misty figure of Isabella faded.

  Christie’s chin jutted her red-rimmed eyes wide. “Is Grandpa here? Can he see me? Does he have a message for me?”

  Here we go.

  “I’m sorry, Christie, he’s not here. Someone else was, though, and told me he’s moved on.”

  Christie’s head fell. “Okay.”

  “I need to talk to you about something else. It’s very important.” I leaned forward in my chair until my face was inches away from hers.

  As she lifted her head, I saw how pale her face was. Under the desk light, I could see a light film of sweat forming on her upper lip.

  “Has your hair been falling out?” I asked in a low voice. Now that it had been said, I couldn’t unsay it. I knew the shit would probably hit the fan by my taking this on, but Isabella was right. If I didn’t tell her, no one else would. My honor and integrity were more important than any potential fallout. Everything or nothing was now at stake.

  Christie’s mouth had fallen open and her hand was trembling beneath mine. She pulled it away and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “How did you know?” she asked her voice shaky.

  “The girl told me. I just got a message from her. She was here then she suddenly left,” I said. I was second-guessing myself now. As it was, I was sensitive to the slightest ridicule as a telepath/psychic, paranoid about labels branding me a fruit loop and a nut, and had lost count of the number of times I’d copped smart-arse comments about what I do, even if I do it for love and not money. In this case
, despite the suppressed resentment between us, my duty to Connor’s daughter won out, even if she remained unaware of her paternity.

  “Who is this girl? Does she know where grandpa went? Why is my hair falling out, does she know? Do I have cancer, too? I’m freaking out here.” Christie lifted a shaking hand to her forehead.

  Now was the time to break it to her. I took a breath and plunged ahead. “She seems to think someone is planning to poison you and wants you dead.”

  In a split second, Christie was out of her chair. “What the hell are you talking about? Poison? You’re mad, completely off your trolley! This is crazy, complete bullshit.” She sliced the air with her right hand as she spoke. Her eyes were cold and hard, and her nostrils flared.

  “Christie, please. I didn’t want to tell you, but if I don’t, who will? Your life is in danger.”

  “From who? You? Seriously, I had my doubts and now I know why. You’re a nutcase! I always knew you were jealous and wanted my uncle all to yourself, but I had no idea you wanted me out of the picture this much.” The pitch of Christie’s voice rose until she struggled for breath.

  I stood up and reached out to her. “No, please understand what I’m saying. I’ve been told that someone that you love and trust will try to kill you. It was a warning, to prevent this from actually happening, a preventative gesture.”

  However, Christie became a wild colt, unbridled and making a bid for freedom from the tyrant that was her evil step aunt. She barged through the doorway and back toward the lounge room. I trailed behind her with a hand out.

  “Ryan, let’s go now.” Christie’s voice was hard and flat, its ominous edge slicing the air.

  Ryan turned away from Connor and pulled hands from his pockets, reaching Christie in a few lengthy strides. As he hugged her, his stare flicked from Christie to me. I stood in the doorway, arms out.

  “Christie, wait, this is a misunderstanding.” I moved in an attempt to stand beside her, but she refused to look at me, powering ahead.

  “You were right,” she said to Ryan. “She’s dodgy as hell, a manipulator. We were right not to trust her. Let’s get out of here.” Bounding through the front door and stomping down the steps, Christie headed for their car.

  With round eyes, Connor rushed to the street where their silver Commodore waited.

  “Hang on, Christie, what’s this all about? What on earth happened in there?”

  Ryan had already opened the car with the click of the remote, and he and Christie slammed into the car. It started with a hiss, and Connor watched from the driveway with feet wide apart, hands on his hips. Ryan gunned the car engine and then I heard the violent sharp screech of the tires as he slammed on the accelerator.

  For a moment, Connor and I stood unmoving, and the street was silent other than a swish of trees and a hiss of possums.

  A surge of energy shot through me until I was quivering and my limbs were tingling. Time stood still. I was squat in the middle of a worst-case scenario: Connor and I broke apart, and ridicule and scorn for me as a telepath. While my motives were pure, it didn’t matter anymore. I should have said no to giving Christie a reading, no to telling her the truth about her hair falling out and the attempt on her life.

  Our relationship meant more than this. Of course, Connor and I had been together a long time and been through a lot; but his good looks and the depth of my love for him meant there were times when my insecurities surfaced and I doubted my worthiness with a man who initially I’d thought out of my league. I mean how could a reckless, spontaneous, at times selfish woman, and a stunningly handsome man, stable, caring and infinitely patient, get together? Sometimes I wondered if my happiness would come crashing down in one fell swoop and Connor would laugh at me, telling me it had all been a practical joke.

  It had happened so quickly, the situation spinning out of control before my eyes.

  Connor had his back to me, facing the street. He turned in slow motion, hair flickering slightly in the wind. A small smile twisted across his face and he shook his head softly.

  Oh god, this was it. I hadn’t planned to put him in this position, but in that split second when I decided to tell Christie the truth about my vision, I had made a decision. A choice to sacrifice everything and stick my neck out to save her life. I’d seen how much Christie meant to him, more so than Aaron did, particularly as Christie was all he had left. Somehow, I knew if forced to make a choice again, he’d possibly choose family this time, not me. There could only be so much any person could take. A daughter didn’t compare to a girlfriend of nearly twelve months, no matter how much he loved me. I should have stayed quiet. Maybe Christie might be in danger, but I wouldn’t be facing the prospect of a life without Connor. Burning shards drove up within me and adrenaline surged.

  My decision had forced Connor’s hand and he was faced with a tough choice, not for the first time in our relationship. It wasn’t fair to either of us, not the first time around and not this time either. He’d been forced to choose between his nephew Aaron and me a year ago, when Aaron had broken into my house and shot Connor’s partner Ian. Connor had gone through hell, faced with a choice between family, love and morality. Love and morality had won, but I knew the ache of that decision stayed for longer than it should have.

  I didn’t want him to have to choose between Christie and I, but when it came down to it, that’s what this was. I was terrified because I knew that Christie would win. Especially since he suspected she was his daughter, not his niece. I’d asked him months ago if he thought he would ever share his doubts with Christie, but Connor had simply lowered his eyes and turned away. I’d figured that was a no. What I didn’t say was that it could backfire if she ever found out. I’d never tell her, of course, but there was still a risk.

  Connor took two steps closer. He rubbed at the middle of his forehead. In the twilight, I could see the shadows under his eyes.

  “What the hell happened in there?”

  “Can we go inside? I need a drink before I say it out loud.”

  I headed back toward our home, trudging toward the front steps, each foot filled with lead. At the doorway, I took a deep breath and stepped in. As if our relationship hadn’t been tested enough already, the ties that bound us were about to be stretched to their limit.

  Saturday 19th January, 7.51pm

  Leaning forward in the car seat, Christie sobbed. “Go, please just get us home.”

  Ryan waited for a moment for the sobbing to subside. “What happened, Christie? What did she do?”

  Christie swiped a hand under her eyes. “I’m okay. Honestly, Ryan, I’m fine.”

  “Yeah,” said Ryan. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. “You need to tell me what happened.”

  “It wasn’t what she did; it was more what she said. Grandpa wasn’t there, he wasn’t there!” Her eyes flashed and she moved a fist to her leg. She inhaled and Ryan swallowed, pushing the rising anger back down his chest.

  “Okay. What did she say?”

  A long silence, broken by a sniffle, and a sharp intake of breath the only response.

  “Christie, what happened?”

  “She said, she said…” Christie rubbed a tissue at her nose. “She knew my hair was falling out, and she said someone would try and poison me! She’s full of it.”

  “Your hair’s falling out? What?” Heat rose in his neck. “When did you think you were going to tell me?”

  “It only happened this morning, and we were in a rush…”

  Ryan was weaving through the chaotic Saturday night Carlton traffic and Christie grabbed onto the door handle with her left hand.

  “Geez, Christie.” He blew out a breath and swerved dramatically as a car suddenly swung out in front of them. He slammed the heel of his hand down on the horn and a long blast sounded. “Fucking idiot!”

  “Ryan,” said Christie with a warning tone, “calm down.”

  “Calm down? You’re suffering stress, badly. You need to go to a doctor. There’s t
hat late night clinic we could go to.”

  “I’m a bag of nerves. My first thought was that I had cancer, just like Grandpa.”

  “No, Christie, it’s stress. Losing hair is a symptom of chemotherapy, not fucking cancer.”

  The car had stopped at a set of lights.

  Christie’s tears slowed to a sniffle.

  “So you don’t think I have cancer, then?” She looked at Ryan. His face was red and a muscle in his cheek was twitching.

  “No, I damn well don’t!” he exploded. “If you’d told me your hair was falling out, I could have told you that.” He stretched his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “She told me someone would poison me. Someone I trust.”

  Ryan’s lip curled as he sat back in the car seat. “So, what, you think I’m about to poison you? Is that what this is about?”

  Christie didn’t want to tell him that the thought had flickered through her mind, no matter how briefly.

  The car pulled up in front of their flat, and they sat with the engine idling. Ryan refused to look back at her. He swallowed hard and shook his head, muttering under his breath.

  After all this time together, were they having their first major argument?

  “What are you doing? Turn the car off, let’s go in.”

  Ryan slowly turned to face her. His eyes were dull and flat. “Get out,” he said.

  “What? Why, where are you going?” The hair on Christie’s arms lifted and she froze, unwilling to move.

  “I’m going out. Get out of the fucking car. Now,” he growled.

  Eyes round in shock, Christie pulled the door lever and elbowed the car down open. She stepped into the street and slammed the door behind her. Tires squealed, and with a belch of gray smoke, Ryan took off at speed. Christie stood on the footpath staring at the brake lights as the car stopped momentarily at the end of their street before the screeching tires of a right turn pierced her ears.

  She swallowed hard and hung her head. After a moment, she headed for the front door, fishing in her handbag for keys as tears prickled her eyes. She wondered how he’d become so cruel in the space of twenty-four hours. Whatever was going on with him, she hoped he’d get the anger out of his system and come home in one piece. Soon.