by Dale Mayer
Even if Kate tried to stop that, chances were it would happen—and likely in a most memorable way. Every time she tried to avoid or to hide from something like that, it seemed to always go wrong. Afton was a great girl and had been working as a sales manager for one of the women’s high-end retail stores. Kate had no idea what Afton’s plans would be when she got here, but she had family, which also brought up the question: why wasn’t she staying with family? Then she thought about Afton’s family and winced. Afton always had trouble with them. Some very long-term discord existed with her, involving her brother and her father.
As Kate tried to dredge up the details, she couldn’t really tap into them. There was something. She stopped and frowned, as her brain rattled around—until she remembered.
Afton’s mother had committed suicide.
She swore. That really wasn’t a good topic for Kate right now. She didn’t want to tiptoe around Afton, if that was the topic of the day with Kate’s cases. Frowning a little and feeling some of the high from her day wearing down, she sent a text to her friend. Still having problems with the family?
All the usual.
Kate thought about the response and nodded.
Afton quickly texted again. Second thoughts about me staying with you when I do get to visit?
She sent another text back, making it very clear. WTH? No. Just hellishly busy is all. And may get worse the longer I’m on the job.
Kate smiled. No matter what, she and Afton had been through too much. Afton knew about Kate’s mom, and Afton knew about Kate’s brother. Hell, Afton had even been there at the time of her brother’s disappearance, and all of that just went way back. Kate had lost touch when Afton hit the foster system temporarily, until her father got his life back together, but then Kate and Afton had reconnected as young adults. No way Kate would do anything to jeopardize that friendship. Some things were just too important, and one of those was her two dear friends.
*
Simon’s Tuesday
Funny how the changes in his life, especially after that pedophile case, had changed Simon’s attitude on friendships. After finding out about the true Yale though, Simon still didn’t want to think about all the court cases coming up regarding the pedophiles, Yale included. This discovery about his “friend” made Simon leery about getting to know anybody else. Everybody had history. Everybody had baggage. And Simon knew that Kate had more than most, but so did he.
But now, particularly after Caitlin, Simon had been very leery about getting involved with anybody, male or female, on any level. He had the poker guys he trusted, the people he hired, and not a hell of a lot more than that. And it didn’t look like that would change anytime soon. But he did his best to forget about Yale and to put all that pedophile ring ugliness behind him. But it had opened doorways to his own past that he still struggled with. He remembered his whole foster family as being off, but then his whole world had been tainted by his first foster father. So, what did you expect, right?
Simon shook his head and headed out to one of his building projects, hoping for a better day than they’d had this week. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps, when he felt that same pressure building in his head, but it was slow this time. He stopped, took several long slow deep breaths, then leaned against the brick wall and tried to forcibly shove it back out of his brain.
He didn’t know what it would take, but somehow he had to get control of this, before it sent him around the bend and made him look like an absolute idiot in the world of business. It seemed like, because this vision was a slow start, he could potentially push it out of his mind and take control of it. Or push it out and keep it out. He wasn’t so sure about taking control, but he smiled when the pressure slowly receded again.
“Good,” he said, “now keep it that way.”
Then he headed over to meet his project manager. Today at least the project manager had a smile on his face. “I presume it’s good news today?” Simon asked him.
“Well, let’s just say it’s not more bad news.”
Simon snorted at that. “Since when does no bad news not mean good news?”
“It is what it is,” he said. “We do what we need to do.”
“I got it. What about the materials?”
“They just arrived at the shipyards.”
“Well, that’s one good thing. How fast can we get it?”
“The shipyard workers are going on strike. Remember?”
He stared at him and said, “Oh hell no.”
“Yeah, oh hell yeah.”
“So that smile?”
“Yeah, that smile wasn’t a case of we’ve got good news. It was a case of we’re screwed.”
Days that started out shitty usually continued that way, and, although Simon did his best to get off that track, it was pretty damn hard.
By the time noon rolled around, Simon was furious, fuming, and ready to fire half a dozen people, including his supply companies. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on or why all of a sudden his supplies were screwed up, but, as days went, this one completely took the cake. By the time he was heading home, tired and frustrated, he wasn’t prepared or interested in any more excuses because he had just listened to a mouthful of them all day.
Still, as he walked, he tried to refocus his brain, but he was tired now and weary. His grandmother would say that was a dangerous state, and one always had to guard and protect oneself. He wasn’t even sure why now, at this stage of his life, he was hearing some of her more memorable warnings. Because the last thing he wanted was to have anything to do with that world. He could almost hear her voice in the background of his brain, saying, Should have thought about that earlier then. As he walked, he knew it was too damn far today for him to return home on foot, so he grabbed a cab and headed back toward his apartment.
Just as he was about to get out of the cab, the force slammed into his head, the words almost indistinct, as someone yelled, Just do it!
He stiffened and opened his mouth to retaliate, only to find the cabbie looking at him strangely. Simon pulled cash from his pocket, threw it on the seat, and stumbled his way to the doorman. He reached up, grabbing his head, as the doorman raced to open the door ahead of him.
“Sir, are you okay?”
He nodded but stayed silent, as he stumbled to the elevator.
“Can I do anything for you?”
He gingerly shook his head but didn’t bother to answer. There was nothing anybody could do to help right now. If this didn’t kill him, it would certainly make people look at him sideways. And he could deal with that, he really could, but, Jesus, this would be a hard one to get through. As soon as he was inside the elevator, he yelled back, “Stop it.”
But there was absolutely no way to stop this force slamming through his head. It was like crawling through molasses, yet so painful, but he kept asking it to stop, to go away, and to leave him alone, that it had nothing to do with him.
Entering his living room, he stumbled to the couch, where he collapsed, groaning. Almost with the same force that he hit the couch, as if his mind had opened up, and he heard more. Like a hard step, as somebody’s shoe hit a metal surface. And there he was, once again staring down at the river.
The smell of the salt water filled his nostrils, and the breeze ruffled his hair, as the face of this person, whoever this was, stared out at the water around him. Same place, Lions Gate Bridge. He was desperate to pull his phone from his pocket and text Kate, but he couldn’t move; he was completely paralyzed and locked into this vision. The fact that he was once again helpless and unable to do anything made him all the more frustrated. And it wasn’t even the frustration that was the hardest but the sense of helplessness and hopelessness.
There was also that same confusion, that same focus that the world was better off without her. And again, it was a her. He wasn’t sure if it was the same her, but something was vaguely familiar about her, something that made him once again reach for bits and pieces, so he could try to confi
rm who she was. Why didn’t people think in terms of their own names? Why didn’t they think in terms of the names of their family or friends? Something. Dates? Places? Something that Simon could lock down and find.
But, of course, she didn’t think of any of that. She stared at the water, and the thoughts running through her head were everything from The world’s better off without me to Jimmy would be better off without me. Of course he glommed on to that. But who was Jimmy? Was that a son? Was that a boyfriend, a sibling, or a parent? How could Simon possibly know?
Then came that other voice, that said, Just do it. Just do it, and get it over with already.
That could easily be her subconscious pushing her to do something. That part of her that set her on the pathway to get to this bridge, even though it’s not what she necessarily wanted to do. Yet it’s what she felt she had to do. Like a split in her own consciousness between opposing forces, one pushing her to do it, another pulling back.
He understood bad decisions; hell, he understood all kinds of ugly decisions. But how did one get to the point where these decisions made any sense? He didn’t know. How did one make decisions that were just shitty all around? It bothered him a lot, as he sat here, locked in this vision, staring at the beautiful water, because it was beautiful; it really was. There was something absolutely peaceful and still, when looking down at that flowing rush of cold water, and yet something was mystical and magical. It was life. It was true. It was real, but it was also calm and terrifying.
He was being affected by her thoughts. He had never looked at water that way. He’d loved water, but he wanted to be on a sailboat out in the water. He sure as hell didn’t want to be floating or even thinking about dropping down into something like that. The force would pull him under in no time, and there must be such a horribly strange feeling when you were stuck between the surface and the bottom of the ocean. It was so easy to get turned around and so easy to not know which way was up. And the farther down, the darker the water got, until it became all-encompassing.
Often people did get turned around, and they didn’t know where they were going. It was not an easy thing to deal with. It was also such a weird thought that somebody would willingly want to go deep into the waters, where you didn’t know what was underneath you, or what was lying in wait there, or if anything was coming from underneath to grab you. Because a lot of unknowns were in the ocean. It was just as full of predators as anything above the sea.
Simon kept talking to her, sending a message of Don’t, don’t. He then repeatedly gave her a positive message. This isn’t worth it. There’s another answer. But the other answer wasn’t exactly coming his way from her. He was getting a million other thoughts, but none of it was helping. He did everything he could to try to push away her thoughts, which overwhelmed him. There had to be another way to get to her. He wished he could lift her arm, but, even as he tried to lift her right arm, she lifted herself, grabbed the railing, gripping it hard.
He called out, “What’s your name? Talk to me. Who are you? What is it you want? Why are you doing this? Surely there’s another answer. There’s always another answer,” he cried out, his voice frantic. When she put her foot on the bottom railing and stepped on it, he screamed at her, “No, no, no!”
When she stepped back off again and stood there and stared, he could almost feel the breath in the back of his throat slowly sliding back down again. Maybe, just maybe, she would walk away. He needed her to walk away. Hell, he needed her to walk away and to stay away. Mentally he tried to cut the tie, to cut the channel that had opened up between them.
And not for the first time he wished he knew how to help himself, that he had asked his grandmother for more help, but he’d been so against any of this that he hadn’t even gotten the basics.
With sheer determination he mentally slammed a great big steel plate down in the mental tunnel, cutting the connection in half. Almost instantly he felt the cool warmth of his apartment around him. He opened his eyes. “Thank God,” he cried out, as he sagged against the couch. He sent a text to Kate. She’s on the bridge. Damn it, I can’t stop her. She did step on the railing, but the vision’s gone.
Sorry.
Chapter 15
Kate’s Wednesday Morning
Kate woke the next morning, quiet and controlled, enjoying the peaceful silence of her mind. She couldn’t imagine what chaos Simon’s mind was in as he dealt with this psychic stuff all the time. She once again looked at his text from late last night.
She hadn’t said anything more than Sorry.
What was she supposed to say? He was apparently tormented by a connection to a woman who was thinking about committing suicide. It could connect to Kate’s jumper cases, but Simon had no details for Kate, like to know who Simon was connecting with, for one thing. Again no physical evidence that it had anything to do with her cases, and it left Kate stuck, not knowing how to handle it.
She also didn’t know how to handle Simon. A part of her still didn’t want to believe; a part of her still thought it was all gobbledygook. She knew that some of the guys at work wished she would ask for more information, but she had asked, and there wasn’t anything to report. That was part of the problem. If this was all real and true and factual, then why the hell wasn’t there more information? She understood that some psychics could get more information than others, and it was really not a case of getting better at it, as much as it being take what you get or leave it.
It was so frustrating.
She got up, had her shower, and headed into the office.
As she got in, Rodney looked at her. “What? No marital bliss?”
“Why would there be?” she asked, confused.
“Aren’t you spending most of your off time with Simon?”
“No, not at the moment,” she said. “Both busy.”
“You might be busy,” he said, “but remember. Our relationships keep us sane and functioning, when the rest of the world goes crazy.”
She looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“I’m just a little worried. You’re very intense when it comes to this work, and we want to see you last and not burn out.”
“I have no plans to burn out,” she said, “and your concern is noted.”
He laughed. “Noted and ignored from the sounds of it.”
“Not so much ignored,” she said, with a smile. “Consider it noted. I’m not sure what to do with it or any of this at the moment.”
“Or Simon either from the looks of it.”
She frowned at him. “Is it that obvious?”
He nodded. “Yes, it is,” he said, “and I don’t blame you. He can’t be an easy person to live with, and to know that he has some information but not enough has got to be frustrating.”
“Does he have real information though?” she asked. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
“Ah,” he said, with a smile. “You’re trying to figure out if he’s telling the truth. I would have thought you’d already gotten there by now.”
“I already did,” she said, “at least on the last case. And I know that he’s connected to someone out there who’s currently contemplating suicide.”
“Maybe the problem is that you do believe it, and you’re having trouble with it.”
“Don’t start psychoanalyzing me,” she snapped.
He held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said. “Time to change the subject.”
“Good,” she said, glaring at him. “Is there any coffee?”
“I’ll hope so,” he said, “if this is how you’re starting the day.”
She shook her head. “Look. I don’t know how I feel about all of this. I don’t know how I feel about Simon or his somewhat useful information sometimes,” she snapped. “I find it to all be a bit much.”
“It’s absolutely a bit much,” he said. “Personally I’m getting more open to it. Remember my grandmother had the sight too? I kinda like this stuff. I think it’s cool. I
really am fascinated with the fact that any of this information is even accessible because, if it’s accessible to somebody, it could be accessible to all kinds of people.”
She stopped and stared. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I imagine that other people can do what he does too.”
“Sure,” she said, “charlatans are all over the world.”
He rolled his eyes at that.
“All right, all right. It’s a defense mechanism, okay?” she admitted. “Basically I just don’t know what to believe. It feels like you guys are always pushing me to give you more than I can give you.”
“Maybe that’s how Simon feels about you too,” Rodney noted. When she almost growled at her partner, he added, “It’s not that we want more from you,” he said, “but, if Simon had more information, we’d cheerfully take it.”
“Even though the information comes from these crazy oblique sources?”
“Yes,” he said. “There are no real answers anywhere. Sure, a certain amount are clear, but the vast majority come to us tied up in puzzles of one kind or another. But that’s what we do, unravel puzzles, right?”
Walking toward the coffee room to get herself a coffee, she had to ponder his words. Because that was exactly what they did; putting puzzles together was a perfect description. Of course that made her feel like shit because she hadn’t talked to Simon last night. She’d hoped that he would assume it was all about work, and it was to a certain extent.
But her hesitancy was also about her confusion and about not knowing how to handle Simon and his “gift.” He was as much tormented by all of this as she was tormented by the information she couldn’t get. And to think that a well of it might be there for him to tap into, but couldn’t, drove her crazy, and that just brought her back to wondering how the hell she could even believe this stuff in the first place.
Maybe she was the one who was crazy.