Eyes to the Soul (4 page)

Her doctor also wouldn’t sign off on her condition. As far as he was concerned she should be able to see. He’d done everything right. It was only Celina that wasn’t doing what she needed to be doing.

And he was so right about that. She didn’t dare do what she needed to do.

Plus, there was no way she could explain why.

“Celina, are you doing okay? Are you sure you want to be here and not resting at home?” Gordon, the ex-manager of the Myrtle Auditorium, home to the orchestra – and a very good friend – stood in front of her. “Let me call a cab and get you home.” His hand brushed down her cheeks, the warmth of his palm and fingers sending off sparks. “Please, Celina. You can’t do anything. The doctors are working as hard as they can to help our friends.”

“I feel like I need to be here,” she whispered. “I know I can’t help, but if there is anything I can do in any way then please let me know.”

Gordon’s voice deepened, a long heavy sigh escaping before he said, “I will, but I wish you’d go home.”

She smiled up at him. He was such a good man. She might not be able to see much, but she could see a color with everyone and Gordon’s pale blues were lovely. That said a lot about him. “I know you do. But I’ll sit here quietly for a little while. If you hear anything let me know.”

“Will do.” She listened to hear if his footsteps faded away. But a large noisy group of people moved past, making it impossible to separate all the sounds. There was no plausible reason for her continued stubbornness in staying here. She’d been offered several chances to go home but she hadn’t been able to leave. Cindy was dead. Bruce was dead. Jacob was fighting for his life and was currently in surgery. How could she leave him to fight alone?

People walked past her in a continuous wave. She had no idea if they were friends or family of the injured or if they were here for unrelated events. She was so tired, but she couldn’t let go of the fear that whispered through her veins, flowing on the river of her blood, making every breath that much harder to get out.

Her fingers clutched the soothing rock she’d hung onto for years. It felt right in her hand. Held special meaning in her heart. And had become her comfort in times of great stress. She carried it everywhere, all the time.

“Are you okay?” A quiet, deep and – oh God – smooth-as-chocolate voice spoke from beside her. She’d been so lost in all the traffic she’d disappeared into the quiet of her mind and hadn’t noticed the stranger sitting down beside her.

Her nostrils flared at the man’s cologne. She’d never smelled it before. She was sure of it. There was nothing about it she recognized, but…there was something familiar. The answer darted into her mind then disappeared before she could grasp it.

She was losing it. Confused. Disoriented. It had to be from the chaos she’d been through tonight. This was not a good place for her to be. Not that she’d tell him that. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I’m okay.”

“You looked to be having a little trouble,” that rich voice said with a gentleness that touched her. Except she didn’t need his pity. Or anyone else’s.

She tilted her lips at the corner politely and straightened. “I’m fine.” She firmed her voice and added some strength to the tone. Maybe he’d believe her this time and leave her alone.

“Good.”

He slumped down in the chair, his knee accidently brushing her as it slid past. Sparks leapt between them. She jumped. He leaned forward. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”

She tilted her head, letting that smooth, silky voice wash over her. God, it was magnetic. Making her want something…something more than what she had. “No, you just surprised me. I’m a little jumpy, that’s all.”

“No wonder. If you were in this tragedy at the pub then you have good reason.”

She winced. Her instinct said to keep her mouth shut. This man could be a reporter. He could be an insurance investigator. She had no idea. He was a stranger…and yet not a stranger. And that “not a stranger” part disturbed her more.

“No. I wasn’t.” She offered the white lie without a qualm then settled back and closed her eyes. “Now if you don’t mind I’m going to rest a bit.”

And she shut him out.

*

“Stefan, are you
at the hospital?” Brandt asked.

Stefan frowned into his cell phone. Damn psychics. Was there no privacy? “Why,” he snapped, “would you ask such a question?”

Brandt laughed. “Because everyone knows how attached you are to Celina. And the psychic grapevine tells me she’s been in an accident. How is she?”

“How would I know?” Stefan said moodily as he stared at the dark beauty beside him who had already shut him out. She appeared to be fine, maybe shaken up a little. He wanted to talk to her but couldn’t find an opening. Talk about frustrating.

He stood and walked a few steps away so he wouldn’t disturb her. Why he’d come down here he didn’t know. He was obsessed with her. And damned if that didn’t make him angry. Though he knew she was his natural mate, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference if she didn’t acknowledge it. At the rate they were going she wasn’t going to let him close enough to acknowledge anything.

That was the problem with his psychic knowledge. He knew too much at times. Waiting for Celina to find him, to know him and really see him had been hard, but now that the time was getting closer… it was almost impossible.

He was doing what he could to help breach the gap between them, letting her get used to his energy. Sitting beside her, so close – and yet there might as well have been oceans between them. Except he could see tiny energy flares flicking his way. Easing down his own guard, he let her energy flares mingle with his, tentative, then interested, questing but reserved. Always reserved.

Maybe an instinctive reaction to strangers? Maybe a reaction to him?

He hoped not. The road ahead was already turbulent.

“I need help. And you need something else to focus on.” Brandt’s voice turned brisk and businesslike. “If you’re at the hospital we’re close. If you can meet me outside, I’ll swing by on the way home.”

Stefan frowned. “I’m not sure I’m recovered enough to be much help.” He ran his fingers through his longish hair. Time for a cut again. Where did the weeks ago? Oh yes, that last case with a psychic killer – yet another one – had wiped him out.

In spite of himself Stefan felt his flagging spirits lift. What did that say about him that a series of cases, probably death and destruction, interested him? He’d been doing this work for too long. He needed a break.

A real rest.

He turned to stare at Celina. As if aware, she turned those blind eyes his way. He’d already sent out a probe to see if he could touch her aura. She’d rebuffed him immediately. That wasn’t good. She needed to let him in.

But then, since she didn’t know him, why would she let him in? Then again, she rebuffed his energy like a pro – and how did that work? Was she psychic? He’d often assumed any partner of his would be, but had contemplated the joys of one that wasn’t. He had enough upsetting nights, edginess with energy flares and disturbed dreams for several people. Being around non-psychic people was calming, soothing in a way. At the same time they didn’t understand him or his work or what he could be going through at any given moment.

“Hey Stefan, snap out of it, will you? Sam’s going through some weird stuff. I’ve done some research but I could use your take on it to help sort through this mess. Can we meet or not?”

“Fine. I need to go home too.” He stared at his watch in disbelief. He hadn’t once considered the time when he’d thrown on clothes and rushed down here to be with her. “Can’t believe it’s after two in the morning already.”

“Meet me in the parking lot in five.” Brandt hung up.

Stefan stared at the horrible pastel walls, hearing the muted sobs in the background. He hated hospitals normally and wouldn’t come willingly. Had actually shored up his own defenses to come in. As the foreign energies buffeted him on all sides he realized it was past time to leave.

With a last lingering look at Celina he started to walk away when he felt something odd. He spun around, but the hospital waiting room was empty other than Celina and… a few ghosts. She sat in the same place, her head now resting back and her eyes closed. A simple fog of energy floated toward him. From her? From someone else? He reached out a hand and the fog retreated. He stepped forward and the fog dissipated. Instantly.

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. He stared at Celina but she never shifted.

Instinctively he backed up a step and then another. What the hell – or who the hell – was that?

He glanced around the room a second time, reassured himself that the ghostly visitor was no longer there, and turned around and left. Sometimes he saw too much.

*

He shuddered, the
weakness spreading throughout his being. He didn’t know where he was. Who he was. Or maybe
what
he was. That was a better way to say it. His existence had spread so thin, his mind so weak, his strength so nonexistent.

It was getting harder to keep his thoughts together. But clarity was elusive. There and gone again. Solid then vaporous. And always worse after he focused everything he had and managed to execute one more step in his plan. The massive effort draining his reserves, as if the shock was too much for his system and he needed to reboot.

He needed to grab onto something – someone – and focus again. Likely, onto her. She made a great target. He could do more. Say more – be more when he was with her. But after he left it was as if he closed in on himself – worse off than before. As if the effort to be there in that form took more out of him than anything else. This reaction was lessening the stronger he became, but there was still a weakening of his senses when he left her. As if she were taking something from him.

Which added to his hatred.

This existence was not what he’d wanted. Not what he’d thought would happen to him. It was good and it was really horrible. How could he survive with so many fragments of reality? How could he pull this disjointed existence into something stronger? More coherent? He desperately needed to. This couldn’t last.
He
couldn’t last. But now, more than ever he wanted to. There was something he needed to do. Someone who needed to pay. He had to survive long enough to see his plans through.

This life was empty and yet overflowing at the same time.

He was dying. One little bit at a time. Not like death in the normal way, but a strange, slow, drifting way.

There had to be a way to cut off the deadwood pulling him in all directions – and faster than the slow-ass method he’d been employing. It was taking too long given the weakness and lassitude in his mind.

If only he could think clearly.

There were moments of clarity when he could speak out. Then times when the world was so muffled any action was impossible. Even as he worried on the issue, an answer drifted closer then drifted away. But he’d seen just enough to remember the plan. The plan he’d already been undertaking.

Now he knew what to do.

He hoped.