“Jane’s a psychic!” Anne blurted, earning her a hard glare from me. Dammit I had asked her to keep it a secret!
“BULLSHIT!” sheriff Carter roared at the two of us angrily.
“It’s true,” I confessed quietly, my head hung low. “I can show you.”
“Let me guess,” the sheriff sneered, “you’re going to read my mind, or find the card I picked from a deck, or maybe talk to one of my dead relatives! Oh, and by the way, you’re going to need me to unlock those cuffs!”
“You don’t need to remove my cuffs,” I told her meekly. “I just need something personal of yours, then you can blindfold me. After that, I’ll be looking through your eyes. You can write something down, make hand signs, or whatever you want. I’ll describe what you’re doing.”
“Right, with your partner here,” the sheriff sneered again, pointing to Anne, “giving you signals about what’s going on!”
“Anne can leave the room, if you want,” I retorted, resignedly. “It can be just you and me. There’s no tricks, no cons… I really can do what I say I can.”
The sheriff considered me a long moment, debating whether she should humor me or not. Eventually, she glared at Anne and told her, in no uncertain terms, “Get out. I’ll call you when we’re done.”
“If you hurt her,” Anne warned, menacingly.
“Nobody is going to hurt her!” Carter declared, clearly annoyed at what she felt was an unnecessary, if not insulting, warning.
“You going to be okay?” Anne asked me, putting her hand on my shoulder and squeezing it gently.
“I feel like a damned trained monkey,” I groused. “Don’t tell anyone else, okay?”
Anne gave a sorrowful sigh, but promised, quietly, “I won’t.”
Anne left the room, closing the door. The sheriff got up and locked the door before returning to her desk. “I suppose you want my badge so you can try to pick the locks on your cuffs,” she told me dubiously.
“It can be anything personal,” I told her matter-of-factly. “Your badge would probably work well, but as long as it’s personal, I can work with it. But I will need to hold it.”
“Naturally,” the sheriff scoffed.
“Look,” I told her, getting angry, “I don’t know why I can do this or understand how it actually works, but I know some of the rules that it seems to work by. Trust me when I tell you that I wish I couldn’t do this!”
“Right, because it sounds like such a burden, having magical powers!” sheriff Carter mocked.
“Not magical,” I declared, still angry. “And, yes, it’s awful finding out that the woman that is supposed to be your step-mother wishes you were dead! Yes, it’s awful when your parents find out about what you can do and think you’re possessed by the devil! I have the scars on my back to prove it if you don’t believe me!”
“Is that why you don’t want the publicity?” Carter asked, sounding slightly sympathetic for the first time since she arrested me. “You’re afraid they will find you?”
“Yes,” I confessed, working to keep the tears out of my eyes. “Now, can we get this over with?”
The sheriff reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a deformed lump of metal. “This,” she told me, “was dug out of my bulletproof vest, right over my heart. I carry it everywhere with me. Will this work?”
“It should,” I told her, thinking of the deep emotional meaning such an item should have.
The sheriff walked around behind me and placed the deformed bullet into my hand. I tested the connection and had to stop my mind from falling into it, such was the strength of the connection. I took a breath, closed my eyes, even as the sheriff blindfolded me with what I think were some bandages from a first-aid kit.
I lowered my mind gently, this time, into the connection offered by the bit of metal. What I saw was not what I was expecting…
“Sheriff,” I whined a little. “I told you I needed something personal of yours, not some guy!”
“What are you talking about?” she sneered. “That bullet is mine and it almost killed me!”
“No, I don’t think it did,” I told her bluntly. “I’m seeing a guy in a house working on a computer. He’s on some video chat with some lady with bright blonde hair that’s almost white! There are smiles from both sides. He’s thinking about wanting to meet this woman in person and he’s working to convince her to do it. Now he’s rubbing something on his chest, it feels like it’s a scar and he’s remembering how close he came to dying…”
“What’s the woman’s name?” the sheriff growled, getting angry. I really hoped she wasn’t about to slug me! I was totally defenseless at this point! My hands were cuffed behind me and I couldn’t even see her!
“The woman is calling the man Richard,” I hesitated, knowing it’s not what the sheriff asked, but I didn’t have the information she wanted. What’s worse is that I was getting tired from using my ability so much.
“What was her name, again?” I whispered into the man’s mind, hoping he’d hear it as his own inner voice.
“Grace,” the man chided into the computer, talking to the woman. I blocked out everything else he said once I got the woman’s name.
“He’s calling her Grace,” I answered the sheriff in a huff. “Now, can I please stop spying on him? I agreed to look through your eyes, not his!”
The sheriff was quiet for such a long time that I turned in my seat, holding up the bit of metal in what I hoped was a big enough hint that she would take it from me and get serious about this.
I heard the scuffing of her chair and a moment later the metal was removed from my fingers, replaced by what felt like a badge. Without shifting in my seat, I dived into the connection the object afforded me. This time, I was looking at myself, eyes covered by several layers of gauze, and thoughts of an ex-husband dating again after everything Carter had done for him flooding my mind.
“Okay, I can see through your eyes,” I declared, panting a little. “Would you mind trying to take your mind off your ex-husband?” I asked her.
“How… what?” the sheriff stumbled, her thoughts tripping over each other.
“I told you before,” I almost snarled. “There are no tricks. I really am psychic! Now, what will it take to convince you?”
Without speaking, the sheriff made her way back to her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a deck of cards. She gave it several riffle shuffles and started flipping cards.
“Three of diamonds,” I declared, making her jump a little. She flipped several more and I declared what the cards were as quickly as she flipped them. She went through half the deck before she was finally convinced I was the real deal.
I can’t tell you how grateful I was when she finally stopped, since I was panting heavily by this point and felt like I was on the verge of passing out.
“Are you okay?” Carter asked.
“I’m… a little… tired…” I wheezed. “This… takes… a lot… out of me…”
Carter rushed around her desk, unlocked my cuffs, and pulled off the gauze, looking scared for my safety.
“Are… we… done?” I wheezed.
“We’re done,” Carter declared, taking the badge from my hands and pinning it back on her uniform. “I never thought I’d see the day when someone convinced me they were the real deal…” she muttered, shaking her head a little.
“You and… others,” I joked, still wheezing.
“Others?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Can’t… say…” I told her. “I… promised…”
“You’re the one that bought the Wilson house…” Carter declared, her face showing the epiphany that was coming over her. “You bought it straight-up… Beth had said it was through some kind of grant…”
“Beth told you?” I asked, finally catching my breath enough that I thought I’d at least be able to walk out of the room… I couldn’t promise anything beyond that, but I could at least get out of the room…
“Beth’s a gossip,”
Carter warned. “She told me about a young girl buying her unsellable house all on her own and staying in the house longer than anyone else has managed.”
I groaned out loud, putting my head in my hands. “I wish I had known that before…”
“That Beth was a gossip?” Carter asked, somewhat jokingly.
“Yes,” I moaned. “I just want to live my life in anonymity…”
“No chance of that!” Carter snorted.
“No thanks to you!” I snorted back, glaring at her.
“Fair enough!” Carter admitted in surrender. “I’ll make a public apology and explain that there was a misunderstanding and that you are, in no way, a suspect or a person of interest. If anyone harasses you, you call me and I’ll set it right. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” I answered. “Promise you won’t tell anyone about what I can do?”
“Of course,” she answered. “It’s not like anyone would believe me anyway.”
“Good,” I declared.
“I’ll see you out and make sure you get home safe,” she told me as she helped me to my feet. She walked me out of her office to Anne, who looked relieved to see that I wasn’t in cuffs anymore, though I was rubbing my wrists, certain I’d end up with bruises. That’s another drawback of Omicron-type blood, you bruise easily…
True to her word, Carter made a public apology, later in the day, taking full responsibility for my wrongful arrest. I didn’t hear it, as I got the rest of the day off, went home, and took a nap until late in the evening, too exhausted to do much of anything else.
Sheriff Carter would prove to be one of my greatest allies in my life. This would only be the first time I used my abilities to find a missing person. Some of my cases with her were downright frightening!
But those are for another book…
Now we get into more sensitive material… The rest of the chapters had to be vetted up, down, sideways, and backwards before the top brass finally declared it to be fit for the general public…
That’s what happens when you’re dealing with the CIA…
Chapter 19
A Stranger Appears!
After that, things got a little easier as I had three solid friends looking out for me. Sheriff Carter would often time her rounds to check up on me as I made my way to and from work. Beth would often come to the antique shop to gossip with me or Anne and ask me about the haunted house I lived in. Once or twice she had me check out a place she was trying to sell to see if it was haunted, as she became convinced that I was some kind of medium. I humored her, but never found anything.
Anne, meanwhile, often gave me first pick of any new antiques she had picked up. I’d warn her of the bad items, explaining that they might not sell well, and she would at least discount them, if not throw them right out. As for the good items, the ones with happy feelings attached to them, more often than not, I bought those, adding them to my… let’s call it collection as ‘hoard’ has such a negative connotation…
I added some shelving to the room in the tower that must have been a nursery and started storing the knickknacks from the store there. I was calling it my serenity room and it was where I went to unwind from the day, enjoying the feeling of love from the rocking chair and the sun on my face, not to mention the buzz that I got from holding Mr. Fluffybutt. The knickknacks on the shelves added to the feeling of peace and contentment in that room.
Peter and Wendy would often sit with me in this room and I would read them stories, just as their mother must have done when they were alive. Their favorite story was Peter Pan, which seems fitting for the two of them, all things considered. This is the main reason I call them Peter and Wendy in this book. They’re my little lost children.
I guess, in a way, I became their surrogate mom…
The kids seemed to regard the room as a sacred space and studiously avoided it during their games of hide-and-seek or tag. They might rattle the furniture or fixtures in the rest of the house, but, as near as I could tell, they never entered the serenity room unless I was already in there.
Months went by and life gained a semblance of normality now that the repairs to the house were completed. It still looked old and slightly decrepit from the outside, but the falling porch overhang had been fixed, the cracks and holes had been sealed up, and it was no longer as drafty as it used to be. I planned to hire painters in the spring to spruce up the outside and make the inside more appealing. Peter and Wendy were thrilled that strangers in the house were going to be considerably rarer. I was thrilled that they hadn’t scared anyone away!
Beth came by the house early the day after we had gotten a significant snowfall. It was the start of a new year and we had gotten nearly six inches of snow, which made driving difficult and hazardous. Beth offered to drive me to work, since she had a front-wheel-drive compact that got around in the snow just fine. She bragged, once, that her little car got around better than some of the beefier vehicles. She worried that I’d have trouble with my trike, especially since the sidewalks had not been cleared. Since walking was completely out of the question for me, I happily accepted her help, grabbing my thermos of piping hot coffee, along with my paper bag of snacks and lunch. I also grabbed Mr. Fluffybutt, who got his own oversized bag worn on the shoulder.
I was bundled up in a thick, puffy, coat as I got into Beth’s car. I do not do well with the cold. Being thin and anemic means I have a hard time holding onto the heat, especially in my limbs, since most of what little blood I have is concentrated around my internal organs. The ride in was rough, but Beth seemed totally unfazed by the slick roads. I guess this comes from growing up in the Midwest…
Once I got in the door of the shop, the day started off like any other. There was no new merchandise for me to check out, so the first order of business was to do some general cleaning and straightening up until the store opened. Anne was heading to an estate sale that she was excited about, especially with the weather being as bad as it was. She was hoping for a low turnout, increasing the odds of getting something good and being able to haggle them down cheap.
That left me to man the register. I confess that working the register is my favorite job in the store. Most of the time, you don’t actually do anything! I mean, sure, I was attentive and all, making sure nobody walked out with anything they didn’t pay for, and dealing with the odd broken item, but on the day after a large snowfall, we may as well have been closed!
Still, there was one or two people that braved the weather. They looked like they were tourists, and I made the expected offer of assistance, for which I got the polite brush off, leaving me to go back to the register, sip my coffee and eat my jerky.
And then he came in. A short, somewhat squat, man wearing a long coat, fedora, and a suit came into the store and I immediately pegged him as odd. He made the attempt to look like any other customer, but he clearly wasn’t here to browse. His manner was all wrong. He wore expensive clothes and his shoes were of the formal variety that would not fare well against sidewalks covered with snow and ice. He seemed tense and his movements were a little stiff. He spent more time watching me than looking at anything we were selling. He also stayed in the one room, close to the register, rather than check out the other rooms or head upstairs as any other customer would have. Whatever reason he had for coming here, it was most definitely not to shop for antiques…
I wanted to ignore him. I wanted him to be an innocent customer here to meet someone or just get out of the cold. I wanted to think I was being paranoid and dismiss him from my thoughts.
But, like the song says, you can’t always get what you want…
The man picked up a keychain, one of those large, impractical, ones that animates when you press a button, then stores the energy for next time when closing it. Anne had heavily discounted them because nobody was buying them. Call this another clue that the man wasn’t really a customer. He brought the keychain to the register, allowing me to get a better look at him. He had a goatee that was slightly lopsided
and was wearing dark sunglasses that matched his hat and long coat. He also wore a black suit, tie, and pants.
“How much for this?” he asked, despite the large neon-pink sticker proclaiming the price to be fifty cents.
“Fifty cents,” I answered him, wary of what he might attempt to do.
The man pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and remarked, “Sorry, I have nothing smaller than this. Do you have change?”
“We do not,” I answered honestly. Anne didn’t like keeping much money in the register. Once the register filled above a certain amount of cash, I had to take the money to Anne, who locked it up in a safe downstairs. Anne liked me, but not enough to tell me the combination, which was fine by me. I didn’t need, or want, to know the combination. If anything happened to the money I did not want to be a suspect. Oh, and also stealing is wrong.
“Look, if you really want it,” I told the man, who looked somewhat dejected, “you can have it.”
The man quirked an eyebrow in surprise, so I explained, “I’ll cover it if you leave. Now.”
“Why do you want me to leave?” the man asked, feigning ignorance. I didn’t buy it. His face was all wrong if was truly surprised by my response.
“Because you’re not really here to buy a keychain nobody else wants,” I answered bluntly.
“What makes you say that?” he asked, a small smile coming to his lips.
“You don’t act like a customer,” I lectured, getting nervous as his smile grew. “You’ve stayed in this one room, without checking out anything else, and you keep eyeing me. Why?” I finally asked, my nervous frustration coming to a pique.
“I’m looking for someone,” he told me, stoking my paranoia. “Perhaps you know her? Her name is Gloria Lujah.” He pronounced ‘Lujah’ as ‘loo-jah’ instead of the proper pronunciation. This either meant he had never heard the name pronounced properly or he was testing me.
“Never heard of her,” I told him a little too quickly. I had to work at keeping my breathing steady. I couldn’t afford to start panicking, not now, not in front of the man that had suddenly become a bigger threat than I had first thought.
Call Me Jane Page 15