Suddenly Psychic: Glimmer Lake Book One

by Hunter, Elizabeth

  Monica shot her a look. “Because you’re my kid and not my doctor,” she said. “Hi, Brent. How are you?”

  Brent rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m good. Sorry to hear you’re not sleeping well. I think we got that dresser loaded up. Do you want to come take a look?”

  “Sure, I—” Monica glanced at Robin’s desk and her face froze. “Robin, who’s that?”

  “Who’s—?” She saw where Monica’s eyes were. “Oh, remember the guy I thought I saw in the lake? Doctor said he was a figment of my imagination.”

  Jake leaned over the desk. “Wow, you’re a really great artist, Robin.”

  Brent said, “She won a state competition in high school.”

  “That’s so cool.”

  Robin kept her eyes on Monica. “What’s going on?”

  Monica shook her head. “I don’t… I’m just… I’m sure it’s nothing. Let me go take a look at the dresser, and then we should get going.”

  Robin got her phone as soon as Monica walked to the back and texted her friend. You better tell me what you saw.

  A text came back almost immediately. It’s nothing. It’s probably nothing.

  Stay here for lunch. Tell Jake to come pick you up later. We need to talk.

  Chapter 6

  Val dropped three sandwiches on the table in the shop kitchen. “Okay, this better be good. My cook is pissed at me for abandoning him right now. Today is crazy.”

  “Something weird is happening.” Robin flipped the sign on the front of the shop and walked back to the kitchen. “We’ve barely talked since the accident, but something is going on.”

  Robin had made another pot of coffee. It was fall in the mountains, and once it got cold enough, she could drink coffee all day. Monica was sitting at the table, staring at the sketch in Robin’s notebook.

  “So what’s going on?” Val looked at the sketch. “Who’s that? Robin, are you drawing again? It’s about time.”

  Robin said, “It’s the mystery man. Remember him?”

  Val rolled her eyes. “This again? The doctor said—”

  “I saw him.” Monica raised her eyes to Val. “I saw him too.”

  “Where?”

  Monica looked down. “It was in a dream,” she said quietly. “I don’t know him. Why would I see him in a dream?”

  Val opened her mouth. Shut it. “I don’t know. Robin probably told you what she saw and you—”

  “I didn’t see a guy kinda like him, Val. I saw him.” Monica raised the notebook and pointed at the detailed sketch. “I saw this guy. Exactly him.” She punched her finger into the notebook. “In one of my crazy dreams.”

  Val frowned. “What crazy dreams?”

  “The ones I am having like every single night since the accident,” Monica said.

  Robin said, “I’ve had nightmares about the car too.”

  “We almost died,” Val said. “Of course we’re having nightmares.”

  “They’re not nightmares.” Monica shook her head. “I do have nightmares about being stuck in the car, but it’s more than that.”

  Robin sat next to her. “More like how?”

  Monica was frustrated. “It’s just… they’re dreams, right? But they’re super vivid, and it’s like I’m there. I used to dream about Gil all the time, which my therapist says is totally normal.”

  “See?” Val rolled a sandwich toward both of them. “We’re all stressed out and that’s all this is. Eat. Robin, I got you turkey because we’re almost out of chicken.”

  “I don’t care about the food.” Robin set the sandwich to the side. “Monica, you said the dreams were weird. Weird how?”

  “They’re weird in that they’re not weird. Does that make sense?”

  Val and Robin exchanged a look.

  “No.”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay, okay.” Monica drummed her fingers on the table. “Okay, so you know how dreams are kind of all over the place? Like you’re in one place, and then all of a sudden you’re in another place, and it makes perfect sense in the dream, right? You don’t even notice it.”

  “Okay and…?” Val unwrapped her sandwich and began to eat. “I don’t know about you two, but I haven’t had anything but coffee today and I’m hangry.”

  “Eat.” Robin unwrapped her sandwich too. “I get what you’re saying about dreams, so how are these dreams different?”

  “They’re linear. Like a scene out of a movie, only I just caught a bit in the middle and it doesn’t make sense. But everything happens in order. I can hear people. Like really clearly. I can hear other things too. Like I can hear background noise and I notice it. Who does that in a dream?”

  Val swallowed a large bite. “Don’t ask me. I don’t dream.”

  “Everyone dreams,” Robin said. “You just don’t remember.”

  “Either way, I have no idea what a normal dream is.”

  Monica said, “Well, I’ve always dreamed a lot, and these are not normal dreams. And I see the same ones over and over.”

  “Recurring dreams?” Robin took another bite of her sandwich. “How is that weird?”

  “I can’t explain it, but they just feel more real than normal dreams.”

  Val raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

  “I mean maybe they’re not dreams?” Monica looked unsure.

  Robin felt unsure. Of everything.

  “If they’re not dreams,” Val said, “what would they be?”

  “I don’t know!” Monica threw up her hands. “I’m Catholic. I don’t believe in psychics and visions and stuff.”

  “But a virgin birth is no problem?” Val narrowed her eyes. “Or a guy coming back from the dead?”

  “It’s not the same, Val!”

  “Stop.” Robin held out her hands. “We’re not having this argument right now. Let me…” She took a deep breath. “Okay, something happened at the hospital, and I didn’t tell anyone about it. Not Mark, not you guys. No one.”

  Monica’s eyes went wide. “What happened?”

  “I saw…”

  A nurse with gunshot wounds who’s been dead for over thirty years.

  A little girl on the edge of the forest with bare feet.

  A man sitting in the corner of a room.

  The bell over the door rang and Monica rose. “I could have sworn we locked that.”

  Robin sighed and took a bite of her turkey sandwich. “We did.”

  Monica walked out to the shop and walked back. Her eyes were locked on Robin. “The door was locked.”

  Val frowned. “Is there someone in back?” She reached into her purse. “I have my pepper spray.”

  “It’s locked in back too,” Robin said. “There’s no one here but us. It’s probably just the vents or something.”

  “What were you talking about?” Val said. “What happened at the hospital?”

  Robin’s heart began to race. “I saw someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. Someone who had already died.”

  “You saw a dead body?” Val grimaced. “Sorry. That’s not fun. But, I mean, it is the hospital.”

  “No. I mean… she was kinda dead?”

  Val shook her head. “You’re not making sense. You did or did not see a dead body?”

  “I saw her… but she wasn’t dead. But she was.”

  Monica’s eyes bugged out. “What?”

  “There was a nurse in my room.” Robin took a steadying breath and put her sandwich down. “I talked to her. We had this whole conversation, and she checked my vitals, but I didn’t realize…”

  Val was staring at her. “You didn’t realize what?”

  Robin reached for the notebook and flipped forward a few pages. “I talked to this woman.” She showed them a portrait she’d sketched. “But then she turned around, and I saw gunshot wounds in her back.”

  Val and Monica both stared at her with their mouths open wide.

  “I screamed,” Robin continued, “and the nurses came in and the woman was gone.
I don’t remember her leaving. I don’t remember the door opening until the other nurses came through. They told me I was hallucinating because of PTSD.”

  “Which you were,” Val said. “It’s completely normal, Robin. I mean, having it after an accident is normal. You know what I mean.”

  Monica murmured, “That doesn’t seem normal to me.”

  “Or me,” Robin said. “Why would I see someone or dream someone I’d never seen before? Never heard of before? Then later, one of the nurses who came in told me about this woman—this other nurse—who was murdered in the emergency room in 1982.”

  “So you must have heard the story somewhere,” Val said.

  “I never heard her name or saw her face until that day.” Robin looked hard at Val. “Look up her name on your phone. Look for Debbie Hawkins murder. 1982. Bridger City. It’s her. I looked it up after they told me her name. I’m not crazy.”

  “I’m not saying you are.”

  “Your eyes are saying it.”

  Monica said, “So you think you saw a ghost?”

  “I don’t know. But I saw Debbie Hawkins in the hospital. She took my blood pressure. I felt it. And I saw a man in the lake.” She tapped the picture Monica had been staring at. “I saw this guy—the same guy you saw in a dream. He broke the window in the car and got us out. And then he wasn’t there.”

  Both Val and Monica were silent.

  “I know it sounds crazy! But so does having…” She gestured toward Monica. “Visions. Or premonitions. Whatever.”

  Val shrugged. “I mean, weird things happen, Robin. Are you saying you believe in ghosts? If that guy in the water was a ghost, how could he have broken the window like you say he did?”

  “You think I broke the window myself? With what?”

  Monica said, “Everyone calm down. Robin, we’re not saying you made him up. We’re just saying…”

  “What?” Robin asked. “For real, what are you saying? Because if you have a better explanation for all this, I’d love to know.” Robin pointed at the door. “I hear that damn bell all the time. Sometimes the door is open. Sometimes it’s not. But that bell goes off all the time and no one is there.”

  Val and Monica didn’t say anything.

  “What about you?” Robin shoved Monica’s foot under the table.

  “Ow!” Monica sat up straight. “I’m sure I’m just imagining things.”

  “Did you see this guy in a dream or not?” Robin asked.

  “Yes.” Monica was looking paler and paler. “But” —she spoke carefully— “maybe—”

  “And it wasn’t just his face,” Robin said. “Tell Val what you saw us doing.”

  Monica’s hand traced over the notebook. “He was with Robin, and they were walking in the woods by the old mill, not far from where the car went in the water.”

  “That is not a dream,” Robin said.

  Val’s eyes shot between the two of them. Suspicious, pragmatic Val. She wasn’t buying any of it. “So what do you think it is?”

  Robin didn’t speak. Neither did Monica.

  “Okay, let me get this straight.” Val pointed at Robin. “You are saying you can see ghosts.” She turned to Monica. “And you’re saying that you are having… visions? Premonitions?”

  “I think premonitions would be the more accurate term,” Robin said quietly.

  Monica added, “I googled it.”

  Val rolled her eyes. “Forgive me. It’s been a while since I watched Charmed.” She turned to Robin and held up her phone. “I looked. Your sketch is dead-on. Good job. It’s Debbie Hawkins.”

  “I told you I didn’t make her up.”

  “Because you saw this story somewhere!” Val said. “You remembered it—maybe not consciously—but when you ended up in Bridger City Hospital, your brain pulled it out—”

  “I didn’t suddenly remember a murder from 1982.” Robin fought to keep her voice even. “I was eight in 1982. I wasn’t watching the news or reading the paper.”

  “Your brain was reacting to stress,” Val said. “That’s it. That’s all this is.”

  “And what about Monica?”

  “She’s dreaming. She’s dreaming about weird, intense stuff—”

  “Last night I dreamed about a hunting knife, and it had dried blood on it,” Monica said. “It was in a dark place with stained glass windows. Is that a normal dream? I don’t know any place that has stained glass except the church. I have never dreamed violent things. Never. I have happy, silly dreams. Sometimes sad dreams. But now I’m dreaming about Robin walking with a mystery man and bloody knives?”

  “Will you just stop and listen to what you’re saying?” Val put her phone down. “You’re saying that you’re seeing ghosts, Robin. Ghosts. That you can even have conversations with them, and they do stuff.” She turned to Monica. “And you’re having visions.”

  “Premonitions.”

  “Whatever you want to call them, you’re saying you get previews of the future? Really?” She looked between them. “I mean… really?”

  Robin didn’t say anything. She could see the skepticism on Val’s face, but nothing else made sense. She’d been turning it over in her head for weeks.

  “I know I’m not crazy,” Robin said. “And I know this doesn’t seem like something I’d believe—”

  “You’re like the last person who would believe bullshit like this!”

  “I know. Because I’m practical, sensible Robin.” She looked Val dead in the eye. “So doesn’t that mean something?”

  Val stood and walked around the kitchen. “I want to get this straight so I can be sure how much counseling you both need. You—my two normal, nonflaky friends—had near-death experiences, and now you think we’ve all developed psychic powers, and that’s the most logical explanation? Not that we’re all dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder. You think you’re psychic?”

  Robin leaned on the table. “What did you say?”

  “It’s PTSD, Robin. I’m saying—”

  “No.” Monica narrowed her eyes. “The thing before.”

  Val frowned. “What?”

  Robin and Monica exchanged a look.

  Did you hear that?

  Uh, yeah. I heard that.

  Robin turned back to Val. “We’ve all developed psychic powers?”

  Chapter 7

  “We’ve all developed psychic powers,” Monica said. “That’s what you just said, Val.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Robin said. “What’s going on?”

  Val blinked and stared straight at her. “Nothing.”

  Robin narrowed her eyes. “You are lying so hard right now. You are lying harder than when you told Julie Gulling her parents wanted to adopt you.”

  “That was so mean,” Monica said. “You scared that girl.”

  “She deserved it,” Val said.

  Robin was not going to let Val and Monica go off on a tangent. “Don’t distract us, Val. You just said, ‘We’ve all developed psychic powers.’ Tell us what is going on.”

  Robin was positive something was up with Val. She glanced at Monica. Monica knew it too.

  “What are you feeling, Val?” Monica used her calm-yet-firm mother-of-four voice. “We’ve been honest with you even when it’s been embarrassing.”

  “Nothing.” Val let out a forced laugh. “I’m stressed out. We all are. We almost died. Have you thought about that? Really thought about it? That’s why we’re having PTSD. We were terrified and nearly died and had to face the fact that our lives are a lot more precarious than we all thought.”

  Val lifted her chin as she sat back at the table and picked up her sandwich. “And to be honest, I’m still a little offended that Monica wouldn’t marry me if we were lesbians because I don’t fold laundry.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject,” Monica said.

  “I’m just saying that seems like a really minor thing to focus on when we were almost going to die.”

  “
But we didn’t die, and I bet you still have laundry on your couch from before my birthday!”

  “Are we in seventh grade again?” Robin rubbed her temple. “Both of you. Stop.”

  Was Val right? Was Robin imagining all this?

  No. She wasn’t an imaginative person. She hadn’t been since she was a child.

  “We probably all need to see therapists,” Val said, “but my craptastic insurance doesn’t do that, so I’m up shit creek. I’ll be fine. I’ll just drink more wine. Cheap wine.”

  “Yes, that’s definitely a healthy strategy to nurture mental health,” Robin said.

  “Better than avoiding everything, which seems to be your go-to.”

  Bitch. Robin didn’t say it, but her glare seemed to get the sentiment across, because Val was glaring too.

  Monica reached for both their hands. “This is not accomplishing anything. Val, for the record, if I liked girls, I would consider you a great catch.”

  “Thanks, Monica.”

  “But I would insist on hiring someone to do laundry. Don’t argue with me, you know I’m right.”

  Val shrugged. “Fine.”

  Robin said, “I’m so glad you got your completely fictional marriage sorted out.”

  Val flipped her off.

  Monica shot Robin a look. “Before we start bickering again, tell us what’s going on, Val. Even if you think we’re full of shit, tell us what’s going on.”

  “Nothing!” Val pulled her hand from Monica’s and rose. “I’m telling you, this is PTSD. Do you remember how crazy I was after Josh left? This is worse, okay? I’m edgy all the time. I don’t want to be in my shop. I’m losing patience with everyone, and don’t even get me started on all the shit people leave behind.”

  “What?”

  “Just… stuff! Have you ever noticed how much crap all of us have?” She walked over to the table. “Purses! Why do we carry purses everywhere?”

  “Because women’s pants don’t have decent pockets because fashion designers are men who suck?” Robin said. “I don’t know. Having a purse never bothered you before.”

  Val pointed to the kitchen. “All these… what do you call them? Little decorative things? Doodads? Fiddly shit? I don’t know.”