Scott looked up to see Grace and Tom sipping on their own cups of the tart brew. “It’s quite good,” Tom said.
Scott looked to Grace who could not be seen by Patti. She wrinkled her face sending a non-verbal message of disdain.
“Oh, uh, sure,” Scott said, reaching up and accepting the cup. Apparently, Patti had brought out a pitcher of the refreshing drink while Scott was watching her visions.
She smiled pleasantly and then returned to the chair she had occupied earlier. “Where were we?”
“Uh,” Tom muttered. “You were telling us how you and Jerry met.”
Hidden from Patti’s view behind the porch pole, Scott poured most of the lemonade onto the ground at his feet. He set the cup down and quietly slipped back into his trance. In his earlier vision he had seen something that scared him—made him want to look further. He skimmed past the childhood memories, past the violent encounter with Ray and into a nighttime experience.
Patti slipped out of the bed well after midnight. She quietly dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans and tiptoed down the hall to Ray’s room. Leaning over his bed, she shook the old man awake. “Ray. Ray. Wake up.”
“Huh? Who is that? Darlene?”
“No, it’s Patti. But it’s time to go see Darlene,” she said.
Ray sat up in bed and Patti helped him dress in slacks, a shirt, and his bedroom slippers.
“Where’s Darlene?” he said, a little too loud.
“Shhh, Ray.” Patti said. “I’ll take you to see her.” Patti took Ray’s arm and walked him toward the back door. She carefully scaled the steps to the grass below.
Scott noticed Patti seemed completely emotionless, as if she were following a script and not acting on feeling.
The odd pair, he a full foot taller than she and dressed in pajamas, and she struggling to push him along, stumbled around the outside of the house to Jerry’s beat-up Chevy. Patti helped him climb into the passenger side of the car, saying, “We’re gonna see Darlene.”
“Darlene?”
“Yes,” Patti reassured him. “Very soon.”
The car fired up and Patti felt a shock of fear that Jerry might wake up at that sound. She backed out of the driveway, lights off.
“Where is she?” Ray said, looking around the car quickly.
“She’s waiting for you, Ray. Up ahead.”
They drove on for thirty minutes, or so, into the curvy roads of the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. Eventually, Patti pulled off the main highway and onto a small, dirt lane, marked by a lone sign that said, “Park Personnel Only.” About two hundred yards in she stopped the car before a metal gate blocking the road. “C’mon, Ray. We’re almost there.”
Ray opened the door quickly, looking down the dirt lane beyond the gate. “Darlene is there?”
“That’s right, Ray,” Patti said. “She’s just a little way up ahead.”
Ray cautiously stepped from the vehicle as if he were stepping from a boat into murky water. He looked back at Patti one more time and then turned and walked up the road and past the closed gate.
Patti put the car in reverse and backed down the road a few feet.
Ray stopped and turned to look after her as the car backed away.
She forced herself to focus on the road behind her and backed further, quickly. At one point, the right side of the car screeched into a hedge of thick bushes, scraping the rear fender. “Shit,” she exclaimed. She jammed the car in drive, rumbled forward, and then backed up again, this time steering the trunk of the car to the right to avoid the bushes. She missed them by inches.
Her last vision was of Ray standing alone behind the metal gate, looking after her. He reminded her of the puppies at the Pet Rescue Center in Canton and how they stared after her when she visited. The image of Ray burned into her mind and melted her heart. Tears began to flow. She could barely see the dirt road through the wash of tears. When she reached the turnoff from the highway, she backed the car around so she could enter driving forward. She ratcheted the gear into Park and broke down crying. Over and over she told herself, “This is the best thing. This is the best thing.” She tried to look on the bright side—to remind herself that Ray had been abusive and to think about the sixty-thousand-dollar insurance policy. She pounded the steering wheel, wishing for another way out but knowing none existed.
After a devastating twenty minutes of emotional torment, she surfaced exhausted and emotionless. Pulling the gearshift to “D,” she eased the car out onto the asphalt road and headed for home.
Scott backed out of the vision and opened his eyes. Patti and Tom were chatting about small things—gossip, mostly, about people in the community. Grace was watching him intently. He returned the look and then slowly nodded.
“Uh, Tom,” Grace said. “Don’t forget we have to meet your friends for lunch,” she said, alerting him that Scott had completed his process.
The trio thanked Patti for her time and politely left.
“What did you see?” Grace insisted as soon as the truck doors had slammed shut. “C’mon. Don’t hold out.”
Tom, who had cranked the engine, waited patiently to hear Scott’s response.
“Guys,” Scott began. “We need to go someplace where we can talk. I need to concentrate.”
So, they drove on in silence. Grace and Tom seemed impatiently quiet while Scott was deep in thought. He wondered how they were going to handle this.
***
The odd trio walked along the sidewalks of downtown Waynesville, glancing here and there in quaint shops and cafés. The cool mountain air helped clear Scott’s head. He used that time to review all that he had just witnessed through Patti’s visions.
“We’ve got a bit of a dilemma,” he started.
“Was she involved?” Grace asked.
“Oh, yeah. She did it,” Scott said. “She took him up into the Smokies, dropped him off, and drove away.”
“Are you sure she didn’t go back to get him?”
“I think there’d be a vision for that and I didn’t see it,” Scott said. “It really broke her up. She took it hard.”
“We’d better contact the sheriff,” Grace said.
“I’m not so sure,” Scott said. “He’s been out there for three days. Odds are he fell down a cliff or was attacked by wild animals.”
Tom and Grace stared at Scott. “How can you be so insensitive?” Grace insisted.
“Because I saw more,” he said. He stopped and turned directly to Grace. “He beat her,” he said. “I don’t know how often—I only saw one episode. But I saw him take off his belt and attack her mercilessly.”
His words caused Grace to pause.
“Are you sure this wasn’t one of the visions that doesn’t come true?” Tom asked. “I never knew Ray to be violent.”
“No, I’m not sure this one really happened. But I did see what I thought looked like a welt on her right arm this morning.”
“You know, brain injury people and Alzheimer’s victims sometimes act violently. I’ve seen it at the hospital, especially when they are confused.”
“In the vision, he claimed she took a photograph of his wife. I doubt that she ever did, but someone like Ray might react harshly in a situation like that.”
“So do we tell the sheriff?” Grace asked.
“That’s the dilemma,” Scott said. “I am ninety-nine percent sure this event took place and it may have been somewhat justified. But, we can’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?” Tom asked. “She committed a serious crime.”
“Because no one will believe us,” Scott answered. “Do we go to the police and say, ‘I had a vision in which Patti drove Ray out to the mountains and left him?’ Who would believe us?”
They all let Scott’s words settle in like a thick fog on a cool night. “No one would believe us,” he added to emphasize the numbing fact. He looked at the little town about him. The quaint shops and cafés of Waynesville had lost their attraction—despair can have that effect
.
“Anyone want some coffee?” Tom asked.
“Chocolate ice cream is my usual pick-me-up in times like this,” Grace added.
“I’ll take beer, even though it’s not yet noon,” Scott added.
“Wait a minute,” Tom said.
“You want a beer?” Scott asked.
“No, something better,” Tom said with a gleam in his eye. “We leave a note. We write a message, anonymously, for the sheriff and tell him where Ray was dropped off.”
“That might work,” Scott said. He looked to Grace for a response.
“Do we mention Patti?”
“I say, ‘no’,” Tom said. “I don’t see any good that will come of it.”
“And, she may have been justified in doing it,” Scott added.
They bought a cheap notepad at one of the shops and crafted a nondescript, anonymous note to the sheriff, which said:
Ray Sawyer was taken into the Smokey Mountains three nights ago and left near Stevens Creek Rd. If you search that area, you will probably find him.
They drove to the Haywood County Sheriff’s office and quietly slipped the note under the windshield of one of the vehicles in the back parking lot.
“And now, we wait,” Tom said matter-of-factly as they drove away.
And waiting is always the hardest thing to do.
***
The next morning, Scott checked the news from a local web site. Old Ray Sawyer had been found in a ravine near Stevens Creek Road. An anonymous tip led those in a search party to the body. It looked like Ray had fallen into the ravine and broken his neck a couple of days earlier. Wild animals had recently disturbed the body. A post to the article indicated some people were disappointed that the five hundred dollar reward would not be given to those involved in the search.
Their time in the mountains at an end, Scott and Grace packed the Prius. Gumby took one more long sniff around the woods and bounded over to the car, ready to head home.
Tom closed the front door on his house and approached the Moores. “I’m sure gonna miss you three,” he said.
Scott walked around to say goodbye. “We were just coming to see you,” he said.
“I wanted you to know the latest about Katie,” Tom said. “Dr. Greenwald managed to get some information on The Charles Wesley Cancer Institute. It sounds like Dr. Kapur and his staff are doing some amazing work treating cancer among children. And they invited Katie to come out for a consultation.”
Grace said, “That’s wonderful news.”
“Yes, it is. The only thing is the treatment is expensive.”
“Just tell a few of your friends up here and take some donations,” Scott said. “Pass the plate. Every preacher I’ve ever met knows how to do that.”
“Some say that’s all we know how to do,” Tom laughed. After a moment of thought, he added, “I've been thinking about your visions. They seem to be about the really important experiences in peoples’ lives. Like the people I've talked with who died and came back—they remember the important ones—those that seem to pass before their eyes.” He looked directly at Scott. “That's what you see.”
“That sounds deep,” Scott said.
“I want you to feel free to come back anytime, ya’ hear?”
The three hugged in the driveway. Gumby barked from the back seat.
Grace and Scott climbed in their car and left for home.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When they arrived home, Grace dropped Scott, Gumby, and their luggage at the driveway before backing out to pick up a few items at the grocery store. Scott was dragging the bags and the leashed dog through the front door when he was startled by a familiar, haunting voice. “Hello, Scott. Did you have a nice trip?”
Gumby lunged against the leash, barking and growling, causing Scott to drop his luggage.
He turned to look directly into the face of Paul Blackwell who was sitting in the living room on the same sofa where Kathy Becker sat several months earlier. He held a pistol in his lap pointed in Scott’s direction. Beneath dark sunglasses Scott could see scars and scabs over the left side of his face. Next to the chair, a cane lay on the floor.
“Hold on tightly to that leash,” Dr. Blackwell said. “I wouldn’t want your dog to get hurt.”
“You’re alive?”
“Very much so, thanks to the skill of a couple of EMTs and a defibrillator in the ambulance,” Blackwell said. Then, with a bit more urgency added, “You’d better put that mutt away or this gun might accidentally discharge.”
Scott did as he was told and locked the dog in the kitchen. “Why are you here?” he asked.
“Simple. I wanted to check on my experiment,” he said.
“I’m not an experiment,” Scott said.
“Oh, I beg to differ.”
“I’m tired of your games. I’m ready to move on with my life,” Scott said defiantly. “I imagine my brother was, as well.”
“Oh, you found out about your twin.”
“I found out you killed him,” Scott said.
“It was such a shame. He was doing quite well until he tired of the drugs and the exercises.”
“You are a despicable, pathetic man. I hope you rot in Hell.”
“I believe I have already begun the process,” Blackwell said. He slowly removed his sunglasses to reveal an eye-less socket, distorted and hollow and grotesque.
Scott flinched. “What do you want, Blackwell?”
“What I’ve worked for years to get.”
“All right. I’ll work with you. Publish your damn papers or write your reports or whatever. You can blackmail whoever you want. Get your goddamn special award for your work in paranormal research. Whatever. Then we go our separate ways.”
“At one time that may have sufficed. But, a couple of weeks ago I sustained some deep, painful, and costly injuries. My doctor bills are enormous and will only increase with time, so I require much more to take care of myself.” He wiped some drainage beneath the place where his left eye had been.
“I don’t think I can help with that.”
“Oh, I think you can,” Blackwell said.
“And if I refuse?”
“I’ll kill you and then come back here and kill your wife and then kill your damn dog…but not in that order.”
“And if I help you get the money for your…injuries, you’ll leave us alone?”
“Oh, no, Scott,” Blackwell said. “As I mentioned, that is not enough.”
Blackwell’s games infuriated Scott. “What the hell do you want?” he yelled.
“I want your abilities. I want to learn exactly what happened to you and how to replicate that. Then I can enhance others’ abilities to obtain any information I want.”
“Impossible.”
“Oh, I think it’s very possible,” Blackwell added.
“What are you talking about?” Scott asked. “That could take years.”
Blackwell smiled a wounded, crooked smile. “Ah, but you forget, my friend. I have already been working on this process for many years. I’m very close. You hold the key to completing my studies.”
“What if you can’t do it? What if you fail to create your magic pill.”
“I don’t fail very often,” Blackwell countered.
“You failed with my brother,” Scott said.
Blackwell stared him down with his one eye. “Your brother failed me.”
“And what if I refuse?” Scott asked.
“Scott, I’m making you an offer you cannot refuse,” he said.
“I’m not a guinea pig.”
“Yes, you are.” His voice rose in intensity. “You are to blame for this,” he said, waving his hand across his face. “You owe me, you freak of nature.”
Scott felt his shoulders slump. He had no choice.
***
“It is good that your wife didn’t come inside with you,” Blackwell said as he led Scott to his black BMW, which was parked a block up the street. “She will return only to find you are mi
ssing. If you can’t help me, you will never be found.”
Scott sat in the passenger’s seat, a small suitcase containing a change of clothes between his feet. “Where are we going?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, Scott. It would be better that you not ask such questions.” He was leaning into the car through the open passenger window. Scott could see his ravaged goatee up close and it wasn’t pretty.
“Just curious, you know?”
“Curiosity killed the cat and your dog,” he said with a touch of venom.
“If I cooperate with you and you create your super drug so you can make super-psychics out of anyone you want, will you leave me alone?”
“Of course, Scott. If others can read people as you do, why would I need you?” His words left a chilling effect. “Besides, I don’t like having you around. You talk too much.”
Scott was looking out the window to his home, wondering how Grace would take his absence when Blackwell quickly reached in and injected something into his neck with a small hypodermic needle. Everything went black.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Some teenage kids were laughing and teasing. Someone pushed him about. Another boy knocked his glasses off his face and someone else smashed them with the heel of his boot. An older boy started to punch Him. He realized he was aiming for the most vulnerable parts of the body—the eyes and the nose. His shoes slipped on the wet, slimy pavement and he fell to the ground.
He covered his head with his arms and the older boy started kicking him with pointed boots. His ribs hurt like hell. “You’re just a pussy,” the older boy shouted. One boot landed in a soft spot near his ear, knocking him over on his side. He didn’t move. He didn’t open his eyes. One by one the other children left. The big boy landed one more boot to his head and then marched away, victorious.
The dream morphed into another.
His head whipped forward as a thick hand slapped it hard. The slap was familiar. After all, it happened every time he did something stupid.
2nd Sight: Capturing Insight Page 17