Mind Games (Games Thriller Series)

by J. E. Taylor

  “What if I sold that house?” he asked as he entered the bedroom.

  She didn’t respond at first. “I would still hate L.A., but it would make it better.” She flipped on the shower, peeling off the bloody exercise outfit. “I need to get ready for work.”

  “I’m coming to the studio with you.” He didn’t like the idea of her being alone with Ty Aris in the same town.

  “Fine.” She nodded and stepped under the spray.

  Tom turned, his eyes landing on the bloody splotches on the carpet and the ruined sheets on the bed. A chill grabbed his tailbone and skittered up his spine. I’ll deal with that later.

  He paced in the living room, mulling over everything that happened in the last hour.

  Ty Aris, alive. How the fuck did that happen?

  He had witnessed the gunshots, four bullet holes in the man’s chest. How does someone walk away from that?

  Jessica stepped out dressed in her leotard and dance skirt, her hair pulled back in a bun. Her eyes wary, watching him trace his steps back and forth.

  “You really had no idea he was here?” She shook her head keeping eye contact. “He caught me on the beach and basically, I freaked out. That’s why I was out of breath when I got home. I ran at full speed. And then...” She waved toward the bedroom, drawing a shaky breath. Grabbing the keys off the hook in the hallway, she gave him a final sigh and headed in the direction of the garage. “You coming?”

  Inhaling, he nodded and followed her out of the house, jumping into the passenger seat of her car, still gnawing on the day’s events. Silence filled the car and he didn’t speak until they rolled down the road in the direction of the dance studio.

  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Chapter 7

  Chris watched the car back out of the driveway and he followed them to the dance studio.

  Mirrors. Jesus, doesn’t she ever listen?

  He pulled a u-turn and parked across the street, slamming the gears into neutral and yanking on the parking break. Irritation threaded through him at her blatant disregard for his warning. He inhaled, and settled in, his eyes planted on the front studio through the now open mini-blinds.

  Distracted by her warm up, his gaze kept drifting to her instead of the large mirrored wall, flaring the old heat, filling him with bitter desire and he closed his eyes.

  What am I doing here?

  He opened his eyes, his answer came with a flash of the mirror, and he bolted from the car, his heart pounding as Frank’s image wrapped his hands around her throat. Again, he slid into the room, giving Tom a quick glance before growling his command, “Let her go!”

  * * * *

  Jessica’s glance flicked from the image of Frank to Chris. She clawed at the invisible hands crushing her windpipe. Her gaze swung back to Tom, frozen in the chair with the same wild-eyed look as before.

  Help me! Her mind screamed and she glanced at Chris. The rage in his eyes aimed at the image in the mirror hiked her already frenzied pulse. He reminded her of the predator he once was as he advanced.

  “The mirror Jess,” he said, his eyes never leaving the glass. “Break it!”

  How?

  * * * *

  Chris’s head jerked in her direction and her pleading eyes set him in motion. He stepped forward, throwing all his weight behind the punch he sent into the mirror. A great web spread into the glass, but it didn’t shatter.

  It was enough to break the spell and Tom stood, swiveling and careening the chair toward the splintered image of Frank. Shards of glass sprayed the room, the mirror shattering under the violent impact.

  The chokehold on Jessica released and she crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, looking up at the two men and the fragments of glass behind them.

  “Damn,” Chris shook his wrist, snapping red droplets across the floor. He raised his eyes from the bloody mess that represented his fist. “You are such a stubborn fool sometimes. You could have broken that.” He crouched in front of her.

  She blinked, not quite understanding his train of thought. “How?”

  “Same way you blew those doors off their hinges,” he replied.

  She shook her head. “I had the energy from the electric chair. It was different”

  Tom gawked. “I, I thought it turned off?”

  “No it was still live,” Jessica said, “I burned the crap out of my hand but the energy helped me blow your restraints. If you had still been strapped in when I was shot, the power surge would have killed you.”

  “I didn’t know,” he said and took her hands.

  “You didn’t need to,” Jessica said. “A lot of things that happened down there you don’t need to know about.” She swung her gaze to Chris.

  “You still can do those things. You just have to learn to do them to save your own ass and not someone else’s.”

  “I wasn’t able to save Mike.” The name rolled off her lips easily considering she hadn’t spoken it since they escaped the barren jail in Albany.

  Chris dropped his gaze, feeling the flare of pain that accompanied the name within her. “That was my fault,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have left you alone there.” He took a deep breath. “But you still can do these things Jess.”

  Jessica reached out to take his bleeding hand.

  Chris pulled away; pretty sure he had broken his hand. “No. You need that for someone else. Besides, it isn’t that bad.”

  “You’re lying.” Jessica glanced at his hand and raised her eyes, meeting his stare.

  Chris smiled and stood up. “Take her to California with you Tom.”

  “You, you followed us,” Jessica stuttered, her brain just catching up.

  “I told you to stay away from mirrors. A dance studio has mirrors, so yeah, I followed you.” He walked out of the building, looking at his hand. “Shit,” he whispered and picked a shard of glass out from between his knuckles.

  Chapter 8

  Jessica and Tom swept up the glass in the studio in silence.

  “How long has he been here Jess?” he asked her again.

  “Today was the first time I saw him since we left that godforsaken place,” Jessica snapped back, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Then how the hell does he know about the dance studio or that I want you to come to California?”

  “I have no idea.” She looked at him for a long time. “Tom, the dream I keep having,” she began and stopped as the bell on the door rang and her first student arrived.

  Jessica walked into the lobby. “I’m sorry, we are closed today. There was a little accident and the mirror broke, I will be out of commission here for a few weeks until this gets fixed. I apologize for any inconvenience.” She smiled over and over as she turned away her students. When the last one left, she locked the front door and walked back into the studio.

  “What about the dream?”

  “You left me,” she replied. “Emily died and you left.”

  “I would never...”

  She cut him off. “But you did,” she whispered, “You will.”

  “It was just a dream Jess.”

  “No, it was a glimpse of the future. We both had the same dream, over and over, Tom. It was a glimpse of the future that Ty changed by coming here today.”

  Tom was speechless.

  “In the dream Ty asked me what I wanted and I told him he couldn’t give it to me.”

  “What did you want?” Tom asked, dreading the answer.

  “I wanted Emily back,” she said, surprising him. “He found a way to do that. He made sure the dream would never happen, even if that meant losing me again.” She hitched her breath in and the tears came.

  “Jess.” He reached for her.

  “I’m sorry Tom, but it hurts. I never remembered the entire dream, but I used to wake up very sad, now I know why. Today I understood. You’re going to end up really hurting me.”

  “I love you, Jess,” he said and wrapped his arms protectively around her. “And I would never inten
tionally hurt you.”

  “I know,” she said. However, you don’t love me like he does. She looked out the window, shivering.

  Chapter 9

  Chris went to the emergency room giving a lame excuse of slipping and falling into the mirror at the hotel he was staying at. They patched up the cuts and sure enough, the X-ray showed a few broken bones in his hand and wrist. They put it in a cast and sent him home with some pain pills.

  He checked in at the hotel across from the beach and literally passed out from exhaustion.

  The sun shone bright in his room when he woke, he rolled and glanced at the clock. His eyes went wide and he shot into a sitting position. It was almost eleven.

  After he went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, he slipped his baseball cap on and headed out for a run. He trotted across the street and stopped at the top of the stairway. A very thin patch of sand greeted him, high tide lapped the rest of the beach and he sighed, turning to the sidewalk to execute his exercise regimen. Hanging a right onto the road that passed her house, he barely gave it a glance, jogging past and stopping at the lighthouse a few blocks away. Chris climbed down the rocks and found a peaceful spot to sit for a while.

  “You lied.”

  Her voice startled him and he turned, looking up at her, too shocked to respond. She climbed down, taking a seat next to him and reached out, running her fingers over the blue cast.

  “I like the color.”

  He stared at her and blinked, unable to believe she had followed him. Blinking again, he glanced down at the cast and shrugged. “I didn’t realize how much of a pain in the ass a broken arm really is.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “It’s just a couple broken bones,” he said, shaking it off. “What really sucks is I’m right handed and my car’s a five speed, and I hope I don’t get any shit about my signature on the paperwork at the end of the week.”

  “Stop whining.” She laughed and leaned into him, bumping him with her shoulder on purpose. “And don’t you have a league of lawyers to sign things for you?”

  He grinned and shrugged at the not so subtle jab. “Normally, but I didn’t consult with legal council this time.” He bumped her back and winked. “I decided to buy some property all on my own.”

  “Getting tired of the city?”

  “I kind of like it up here,” he said looking around and then returning his gaze to her.

  “Why?”

  “You have to ask?”

  She hopped to her feet and stepped away, putting distance between them.

  “Jess?” He looked up at her, squinting.

  She waited.

  “Did you love me?” he asked her sunlight framed form.

  She squatted so he could see her eyes. “You have to ask?” She stood and walked away.

  Chris jumped to his feet, turning toward her. “Yes, I have to ask,” he called after her. She turned in surprise and he took the opportunity to cross the distance. “Did you love me?” He saw the turmoil in her eyes as she debated whether to answer him or not.

  “Yes, Ty, I loved you.”

  The sigh that came with the words tempered his impulse to take her in his arms and the doubt and underlying fear in her eyes struck him like a dagger in the abdomen. “But?”

  “But I chose to marry Tom. I love him very much and I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have. So you moving close to here may not be the best of ideas.”

  “I disagree.”

  “How long before you do something you’ll regret?” she asked, striking him silent.

  The sharp pang in his stomach twisted and he shook his head. “I don’t know.” The plea in her eyes belied her words and he stepped closer, the electricity between them increasing as he towered over her, trembling against the urge to touch her, to reach out and run his hands into her hair, to feel her lips under his, to taste her again. “How long until you give in to your feelings?”

  She was quiet. “A million years,” she finally said and walked away.

  Chapter 10

  Chris sat in the library combing through ghost folklore but her words kept coming back to him and each time the phrase echoed in his mind, the rock on his chest pressed down. Being near her again just increased the pain, and the knowledge of the futility of his actions.

  This isn’t a game I’m destined to win.

  He huffed and stared at the open book in front of him, not seeing the text, only a jumble of letters that didn’t compute. “I never lose,” he mumbled under his breath and glanced out the window at the bank of woods surrounding the town library.

  With a deep inhale, he closed his eyes, wiping his face. “Focus asshole.”

  This time he saw the words on the page clearly and he scanned the passages, trying to find a hint of a way to send the ghost of his stepbrother back to hell. There was nothing useful to address their particular situation in any of the dozen books he had stacked on the table and he left in frustration.

  As quaint as the rest of the town, the center was lined with little ocean-side gift shops and the delicious scent of boiling lobsters reached his senses. His stomach growled and he followed the smell into a roadside market, ordering a lobster roll for lunch. Taking a window seat, he ate scanning the street until his eyes landed on a small sign advertising a fortuneteller. He raised his eyebrows and exhaled. That’s an avenue to consider.

  Inhaling the rest of his sandwich and leaving the money for lunch on the table, including a hefty tip, he exited and crossed to the shop, standing outside and debating for a fraction of a second before he wandered inside. The foul stench of incense and sweat accosted him and he breathed through his mouth to quell the sudden lurch in his stomach. Removing his sunglasses, he scanned the scant room once his eyes adjusted to the dim light. A small table covered in black fabric with glow in the dark stars flanked by two rickety chairs graced the room and in the center of the table stood a hazy crystal ball. Fog permeated the crystal, swirling, creating patterns that coincided with periodic infusions of smoke. A stack of tarot cards sat on the table, almost hidden from view behind the glass sphere. This room had all the cheesy trappings of a hoax with one exception.

  The fortuneteller herself.

  A shiver tried to take hold of him but he dismissed it.

  The fortuneteller’s beady eyes narrowed and she studied Chris with black eyes that peered out from her wrinkly skin. Her white hair provided a stark contrast to her dark skin and brightly colored sari. She stood, circled him, sizing him up and returned to her seat, her robes settled and she leaned on the table, waving her hand at the opposite chair.

  “What ails you boy?” Her voice was scratchy, as if she had just smoked a case of cigarettes.

  Pulling out his money clip, he peeled five twenties off the stack of bills and laid them on the table. “I need to know how to get rid of a ghost.”

  Her head cocked and she closed her eyes, her hand slowly caressed the crystal and then stopped. A gasp slid from her lips and her eyes flew wide like a broken shade. “Boy, you’ve got yourself one evil sidekick and he’s out for revenge.”

  Chris nodded looking frankly at her. “So how do I send him back to hell?”

  Some of the luster faded from her cheeks and her hand gripped the glass sphere like she was holding on for dear life. “He found a way to reach into the physical world.”

  “Yes, through mirrors.”

  Her hand relaxed and she turned her wide-eyed stare toward the crystal ball, staring at the swirl patterns. He could almost hear the whisper of the air moving around in the sphere and this time, when she spoke, he did shiver. “You must kill his spirit in the physical world.”

  “How?”

  “Take away his power and he will fall.”

  Irritation crawled over his skin. He needed an answer, something he could work with, not this cryptic mumbo jumbo. “How?”

  “You must lure him into the physical world and take his path away.”

  “How?” he asked again and th
e slithering sensation on his skin made him shift in the chair. Uneasy didn’t begin to describe the feeling, it was more of a gripping dread itching at his balls but he ignored it, focusing instead on obtaining information he could act on.

  “She is the key, but you need to take the stand without her,” she said. “You must make him think he has won. That is when he will be most vulnerable.”

  The picture she painted in his mind formed clearly in the crystal ball and Chris’s eyes strained in their sockets. Dread turned into icy terror layering deep into his core and he trembled, understanding exactly what was expected of him. He shook his head, slowly at first and then much more adamantly. “No,” he whispered. “I’m not gambling with her life.”

  The fortuneteller stared into his eyes. “You must or all will be lost.”

  Chapter 11

  Jessica hung up the phone, her blood thickening to pea soup quality, draining all color from her face, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She turned toward Tom.

  “What is it?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Em,” she answered. “Em is sick.” She flew into the bedroom and began frantically throwing clothes in a bag. “I need to go to Connecticut now.”

  “I’ll drive,” he said and tossed a few items into the bag.

  Jessica stopped. “All the headaches, all the complaints, why the hell didn’t I see it coming?” Blinking back the mist covering her eyes she stared at him. “I really need you on this one Tom.”

  He crossed to her and gave her a hug. “I’m here for you babe.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I am too.” He picked up the bags and headed to his truck with her in tow and they pulled out of the driveway as the sun dipped below the horizon.

  Please God, please let the power he gave back to me be enough to save my baby girl.

  Jessica prayed quietly, making empty promises in exchange for the miracle she already possessed. Tears slowly cut hot paths down her cheeks and she reached for Tom’s hand, clasping it tightly as the power wound into a tense ball in her stomach, centering, focusing, growing inside her, taking a life of its own.