Don't Touch (3 page)

That night Jackson couldn’t sleep. He had the
sinking feeling this was going to get much worse before it got
anywhere at all. He just laid there looking at the ceiling watching
the fan go around.

Ryan sat against the door for hours after the
detectives left her. The sight of the photo in the file and her
heart started pounding and the images started flashing. Would they
ever stop! She finally forced herself up off the floor.

Logging on to her email, she sent a note to
Barbara. “Help me.” It was late she didn’t expect an answer, but in
a moment the mailbox blinked.

I’m here Ryan. I can be a guide but you must
be the one to help yourself. Tell me what happened.

There was a phone number listed, Ryan sat
back and stared at it for a few minutes. She couldn’t call this
stranger and tell her anything. She could even say it out loud to
herself. She decided to ignore the comment. “How do I turn it off,
or keep it from happening?”

We don’t have an on/off switch. You have to
practice using your gift on purpose then you can learn to control
it. Get something now and let’s get started. It will make you feel
better.

She didn’t know why she was humoring this
person. For all she knew Barbara was an axe murderer whose real
name was Bubba. What the hell, it wasn’t as if she had anything
better to do these days anyway. Ryan got up and went to the closet.
She pulled down a box it held things that were left at her house.
Sorting through with the end of a hanger she found a pair of shoes.
Her sister had borrowed them for a date.

That brought a pain all its own. She hadn’t
seen Amber in three months, when she had returned the shoes. Am
called every Tuesday and left messages on her machine like a news
report on what was happening in the world outside Ryan’s yard. But
every time Amber came for a visit she seemed more distant. Until
finally she quit coming all together.

Sighing she slipped the hanger into the strap
of the sexy sandal. At the computer she sat it down on the desk.
“Now what.”

First we must determine which hand is your
“seeing” hand. Hold them up palms facing but not touching. Close
your eyes and just feel for a moment.

“Oh goodie psychic weirdness! What am I
doing?” With disbelieve she was actually going to do this she held
up her hands as instructed. Taking a deep meditating breath she let
it go slowly. Something did happen. Quickly typing she explained it
to Barbara. “There was a tingling like little electric currents
that crawled up my right arm.”

Good, that’s your “Seeing” hand. While we may
pick up impressions with both hands this is the one that is
strongest and will give you the clearest vision. Try not to touch
an object your “reading” with your left hand. That is the hand you
leave impressions with. You don’t want to leave something on an
object you are reading; it could muddle the original impression.
That’s why I really hate coins, too many touches.”

That last comment made Ryan feel better. Even
this Barbara had something she didn’t like to touch.
Well let’s
get it over with
. She reached out and grabbed the shoe with her
right hand. It took a second but then a scene flashed. Candles on a
table, wow hot guy. It was as if she were seeing through her
sister's eyes. She knew what Amber wanted from this guy, not that
she blamed her one bit.

The scene shifted and they were in a bedroom
she felt the soft press of lips on her shoulder. Arms encircling
her. Ryan’s heart began to race as fingers trailed down her throat
as they walked toward the bed. She spun around and was caught by
Mr. Wow., No, Andrew. His name is Andrew. His hand brushed the hair
from her face as they lay back. His eyes were dark as he kissed
her, the hand sliding up under the hem of her dress. Ryan gasped
then threw the shoe in the trash.

She was furious with her sister. How could
she? In my shoes! Her body still tingled with sensations she hadn’t
felt in what seemed like a lifetime. She never really liked to be
touched but now that she couldn’t touch at all it was torture. Her
heart felt like it would shatter at the thought of never being able
to be held. Something that didn’t seem important before.

Chapter 3

Thomas walked in the department to find his
partner sat feet crossed on the desktop the keyboard in his lap.
“Have you been here all night?”

Taking a sip of Margie’s coffee Jackson
shrugged. The stuff was only good for two things paint remover and
staying awake. “Since four thirty, so close enough.”

Tom pulled up a chair and picked up the
notepad where Jackson had written. “Anything to go on?” There were
notes on a murder that took place five years ago and one from two
years ago.

All the victims were killed somewhere else
then brought back home where they were found with the murder
weapon. Same circle pattern. The only difference was the fact that
the first two had their cornea surgically removed for medical
reasons before their deaths.

Thomas assumed the same position at his desk
and started reading the paper files Jack pulled. The cheap
department would only give them one computer to share. “Did you
look at the trace reports? They all have the same kind of grass,
leaves, forest stuff on their cloths and skin.”

Nodding Jackson pointed to the large area on
the wall map. “Yeah, all of it indigenousness to that entire area.
Nothing to say this one hundred acres is where we should look.”

“Indigenousness? You’ve been reading books
again haven’t you?”

Glaring he flipped Tom off. “Not all of us
can graduate top of the food chain at Harvard.”

Thomas straightened his vest. “You’re just
jealous that I got to sleep with all the sorority girls.”

Grinning wide Jackson spotted Heinz coming
from the corner of his eye. “Who said you have to go to college to
sleep with the sorority girls?”

Thomas made a point mark in the air with his
finger as the supervisor stopped at their cubby. “Update.”

The uptight man’s mood did not improve with
the findings of two similar past cases. “These are unsolved?”

Prince nodded.

Their cell phones rang in unison. Heinz
glanced down. They were being dispatched to a new homicide. “Take
it and let me know what’s going on. Comb through every single match
you can find in these cases. And keep it quiet.”

Same scene different body. The woman’s
license read Cassidy Lane, born 1980. The body was laid out in the
living room covered with a sheet spots of blood in a circle soaking
through. A large kitchen knife tossed to the side. Cassidy was a
pretty blonde with one green eye and the on other the green part
was gone.

Prince questioned the tech taking prints who
seemed frustrated. “Got any prints that seem out of place?”

“Nada. This room seems to have been wiped
clean. I mean there are a few smudges but nothing you could call a
print.”

No where fast is where this was heading. As
they finished up and returned to the station Jackson began to study
the case files. Taking Heinz’s advice, he listed every single match
between the three, no six murders. Stab wounds, eye, women, forest
possible murder site, bodies moved to home. “Whoa.”

Thomas looked over and ended his phone
conversation. “Find something?”

“The first two victim’s autopsy reports were
signed by Dr. Ryan Reign, ME. We need to her to talk to us this
time.” He hoped the lady wasn’t as crazy as she seemed.

Ryan was putting a canned ham in the oven.
She hadn’t spoken to Barbara again. No matter what the woman said
this was not a gift and after her shoe experiment it felt even more
like a curse. Looking at her latex covered hands, as she poured a
can of green beans into a microwaveable bowl, didn’t help.

There was another knock at the door and she
prayed it wasn’t them. She opened the door to see Detective Lord’s
bright smile. Ryan slammed the door.

Jackson pushed him out of the way with a
snicker. “I told you it wasn’t me.” He knocked again. Nothing. “Dr.
Reign, we need your help. There has been another murder.”

Nothing. He tried again. “Listen, if I could
go somewhere else for answers I would but I think you have the
answers we need. We found more cases similar to the original
homicide, bodies that you autopsied two and five years ago. All I
need you to do is look at the files.”

Nothing. They waited for ten minutes then
left. Ryan watched them get into the car and drive away letting out
a big sigh of relief. She didn’t want to go back to that day,
didn’t want to add to it with another murder either.

It started to eat at her, the fact that she
had been on two cases earlier and didn’t catch a possible serial.
As the hours passed the whole idea made Ryan feel like it was her
fault this guy had killed again. The detectives had probably
returned to the station by now. Without thinking she picked up the
phone and dialed the station. “Yes, Detective Lord or Prince
please.”

“Hello this is Detective Thomas Lord. Can I
help you?”

Ryan lost her nerve and hung up. “They can
solve it without me.”

Tom called into the phone again, “Hello?”

He shrugged and hung up when he was answered
with open air, then joined Jackson in the evidence room. His
partner was sitting in a cubby with five open boxes. He was pulling
things out of the newest one and searching for matches in the
others.

He pulled out a tube of lipstick. Thomas
leaned against the wall. “I don’t think it’s your shade. You’re
more of an autumn.”

Prince snorted never looking up. “It’s not
really funny that you would know what season I am. They all have
mirrors and lipsticks. Tissues.” He held up a tampon. “Girl gear.
This seems useless but I know there is something in these boxes
we’re missing.”

Something missing or not Tom couldn’t see
past his growling stomach. “I can’t believe you touched that. Come
on and I’ll take you the Jar for dinner, my treat. Wash your hands
first though.”

Dropping the floral wrapped item into the
corresponding box Jackson snorted. “It’s in a baggie.”

He grabbed the files and followed Thomas out
to the car. “Listen, you go ahead. I’m going to visit that ME
again.”

Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think we’re
going to get any help from her but good luck. Call me if she
answers the door. “

Pulling into the driveway as the sun set
Jackson could see a lamp in the living room on. The doctor was
home, from what Flak had said she was always home. He felt kind of
like he was tormenting this woman but he was running into walls.
They needed something to investigate.

Ryan swore as she heard the car door. She
could see him walking up the steps. He was standing there ready to
knock lowered his hand and just stood there. Fine with her, he
could freeze. It was going to be quite cold tonight, winter’s last
hurrah in Florida.

A breeze blew by making it colder but he
wasn’t going anywhere. Jackson looked around for a place to get out
of the wind he sat on the wicker sofa. He could wait her out.
Maybe. After four hours he was freezing, and peeked in the window.
She sat on the couch reading a book with latex gloves on her hands.
Maybe she was a germ-a-phobe. The temperature was dropping so he
gave it up for the night.

Ryan sat there watching the detective turn
blue. Once she almost gave in. She tried to read her book but ended
up staring at the back of his curly chestnut head. What on earth
was he doing here? One would think a door slamming in your face was
good indicator you weren’t wanted.

A couple of days went by and she thought they
had given up. Typical of Florida the weather had changed and the
night was warmer. She was standing at the window, watching her
neighbor burn the steaks he was attempting to grill when Detective
Prince pulled into the driveway.

Ryan walked into the kitchen. They didn’t
need her.

Again, no knock on the door. From a distance
she glanced out the window. He was just standing there leaning on
the porch rail watching the neighbor scream at his wife for the
fire extinguisher.

Ryan ignored him went to the couch and turned
on the television. She had watched two movies and two home
improvement shows. He was still there sitting on the furniture then
pulled something from his coat.

Standing up to get a better look she could
see it was a thermos of coffee. Her jaw dropped. Of all the nerve.
Well it didn’t matter the detective could get as comfortable as he
wanted.

Ryan went in and took a shower, then sat in
the recliner with her favorite blanket. After an hour of flipping
channels she tossed the remote on the couch. Over four hundred
satellite channels and not a single thing worth watching on any of
them.

Maybe it wasn’t the programming. She kept
looking at the detective on her porch. Why was he stalking her?
Didn’t he have a serial killer to catch or something?

Visions of that girl danced in and out of her
mind's eye. Jillian Hilliard, that’s what the other detective has
said her name was. A glance at the clock said it was twelve thirty
in the morning.