Oracle Seeing (The Phoenix Files Book 2) (2 page)

He’d lost everything in that one heartbeat. In that split second, his body had been burned, his face had been scarred, and his life had been taken.

Now he was forced to hide.

There was no way he could walk the streets like he used to, seeing happiness, life, and the sun.

No longer could he live like everyone else.

To make it worse, criminals walked because his gift was no longer important. He’d used it to put the lawbreakers behind bars, but it hadn’t helped him.

Maybe this was his karma.

After all, he’d used a psychic gift to throw away the key on countless criminals.

Was it ethical?

No, but it didn’t matter. They were guilty. He could see their crimes, know their sins, and then use that to scare them into that locked cage.

He’d used his visions to find the pieces of evidence to put them away. He’d give the leads to the sheriff, and he’d put his man on it.

They called him lucky.

He wasn’t.

Luck had nothing to do with it.

Everything that made him who he was had been about his psychic ability. He traced killers, mob men, and the monsters that went bump in the night.

Now he was that monster.

Scared.

Battered.

Burned.

He was beyond hideous, and this was his payment for helping lock away criminals.

Here was his punishment.

Standing in his den, he stared into the mirror over the liquor cabinet. The likeness that looked back was that of a hideous mess, distorted by that fateful day.

He couldn’t hide from it.

This was his reality. He was now blind in one eye, the gift of the scar that ran down his face, proving that metal blowing up was a dangerous thing.

He, like Humpty Dumpty, couldn’t be put back together again.

He’d paid for the best plastic surgeons in the world, but it didn’t matter.

You couldn’t fix destroyed.

Ugly was here to stay.

He was beyond repair.

The handsome man who fought for justice was now a scarred mess who scared children on the street. The eye patch covered the proof that he only had one eye. The long streak down his cheek a trail of scar and horrible memories of what he’d looked like the day after.

Lucian wasn’t the same man he once was.

How could he be?

Yes, he was still a lawyer.

Yes, he still had the visions.

No, he couldn’t bring himself to help anyone when he couldn’t even help himself. His heart wasn’t in it. He’d wanted to help people, and in the end, it had cost him everything. His family was long gone, his friends couldn’t look at him, even the woman he’d once had on his arm ran the second she saw him in that hospital bed, and his career…

Lucian couldn’t do it.

If he even walked into the courthouse, he’d cause a panic. They’d run at the hideousness he’d become. You could put a thousand dollar suit on a beast, and it would still be a beast.

Lucian had to face it.

He was a monster.

So here he was, a rich bastard, forced to sit behind a desk, using his law degree to write up contracts, divorce decrees, and help more wealthy people write their wills.

How the mighty had fallen.

He was disgusted with himself.

Honestly, if he thought he could go through with it, he would probably end his life. There was nothing left to live for anymore.

He was alone.

Scarred.

Destined to be the beast in the large stone mansion on the hill.

There was no happily ever after and no beauty to fall in love with him—despite his hideousness. She wouldn’t arrive at his door, willing to overlook his appearance to see straight to his heart.

It was a fairytale.

That bullshit never happened.

It was made up malarkey that only happened in books and movies. Women only wanted sexy men who could bring them happiness. Lucian couldn’t give that to himself, so how was he supposed to share it with a wife?

Here was the truth.

He was hideous and no one in their right mind could look at him, let alone want him.

Hell!

He didn’t want himself.

How could he expect anyone else to sign up for that tour of duty?

No one would, and he’d come to accept that.

His life was meant to be in the shadows, alone, and never with anyone again. His hopes of a family, a life, and happiness were gone. The day that vehicle blew, so did his future.

He was nothing.

He was invisible.

He was cursed.

He was lonely.

That day, when he raced out, he’d seen the promise of his future. He knew that she was the one, and Lucian wanted to find her. She was always there, watching him, and he wanted to seek her out too. Of everything he’d been, she’d been that one missing piece, and he longed to make her his.

Click.

Boom.

Now she was gone too.

As he drank more whiskey, he couldn’t stand the sight of himself. The black hair was too long, not cut in some time. He didn’t see the point. He didn’t go out.

No one came to see him. Pulling it back became easier than dealing with it. Like his life, hiding the truth just became easier. Who would come cut his hair? He knew what the papers said, calling him horribly disfigured.

No one dare come there.

No one.

Well, there had been that one. That missing piece to his life, and the reason he rushed out of the courthouse that day. She’d come…

He’d sent her away.

It was for her own good.

The world was safer now that Lucian was locked behind the gates of the massive manor. It was for their protection, not his.

His reflection wavered as the one blue eye, which remained, was filled with anger, loathing, and sadness. It was a bright pale blue, and it stood out in his face—it’s twin long gone thanks to justice.

Or the lack there of.

At one time, he’d been everything. He’d been so much, and now…he was a miserable drunk who hated the world.

Yeah, that seemed about right.

Hate had become his legacy.

Hate had become his fuel.

If he had to fight the world, he’d rather stay in bed. There was nothing left to live for, and this was his proof.

He was shattered.

As he went to sip his whiskey, the pain in his head began. He knew what it was, and he’d ignored it so many times before. It was the precursor to the visions.

They kept coming, even when he didn’t want to have anything to do with them.

How did a psychic stop his gift?

There was only one way.

You ignored them.

You simply didn’t do anything to help the people screaming out for your help in your head.

You quit.

You got angry.

You ran away.

Only this pain was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was growing inside him, burning his insides like hot pokers into his flesh. It was like a million knives being shoved into his head.

It took him to his knees, the tumbler falling from his now dead fingers.

He followed it to the floor as it stole his breath and made his heart thunder in his chest. He was being sucked under, and he couldn’t stop it.

The visions came.

They flashed.

They tore through his mind.

They didn’t give him a chance to breathe.

Lucian watched them play out, memorizing the story they told, so he could think about it when he was ready—when the pain was gone.

Only he wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

They were horrible.

He could hear the screams, the smell of blood, and the sick laughter of the person doing it. Lucian could hear the person begging, and it sounded like someone he once knew.

It was familiar.

It was there in his mind, a not so distant memory from his charmed past.

Then he put the face to the voice.

It was Judge Abrahms.

He was begging for his life.

He was crying.

He was screaming.

Jesus Christ!

He was being disemboweled. The man in the chair was being tortured, and he was privy to it. Worse, Lucian was trapped, unable to break free from the pain-filled flashes. He was being forced to watch someone he’d worked with and respected, being taken apart piece by piece.

Arron Abrahms was being murdered.

He wanted to be sick from the sight alone, but the howls, the smell, and the horrors, pushed him to the edge.

Lucian couldn’t focus.

The visions came fast.

They were rapidly racing though his mind.

“Help me!” he begged, holding his head as he tried to fight past what he was seeing. Curled into the fetal position, he fought to keep the pain from taking him under.

He had to stay conscious.

Lucian felt as if his mind was being torn into two, and if he didn’t get it under control, he was going to have one hell of a stroke.

Everything hurt.

Nothing lessened.

In his large home, Graymoor manor, he screamed for someone to help him get past the agony. He screamed for so long for help that he became hoarse.

Just when he was about to give up hope, he felt someone creeping into his mind, trying to soothe him.

There was a calm touch to his mind.

Whisper light.

It was like snow coating the ground on that first day of winter. It silenced the demons. It silenced the terror. It helped him breathe through the nightmare until he could get it back in control.

Somehow, it found him.

It saved him.

‘You’re safe,’
came the whisper through his mind.

He didn’t know who was reaching for him. Lucian had never had anyone talk to him like this before. It was as if the sing-song voice was in his head. It was the voice of an angel. She was someone he’d never met. He knew if he’d heard her before, he’d remember the way she offered him peace.

“Who are you?” he asked, still curled into a ball on his pricy wool rug. “Why are you in my head?”

‘Lucian, I’m Oracle.’

He didn’t know what the hell that was—or who it was. All he knew was she’d saved him from that pain.

For that, he’d entertain this craziness.

He owed her.

“What do you want? Are you killing him?”

Her laughter filled his mind.
‘I don’t kill. I save. You called to me. You called for help, and here I am. I’m not the killer, Lucian. I’m going to help you.’

He didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

‘Your gift called to mine. I’m here to fix what’s broken and get you through this.’

“I don’t need your help!”

She pulled away, and the pain, terror, and killing came back again. Lucian wailed in agony as the man in his vision was suffering, and he couldn’t help him. He feared him dying, and what it would do to him as he was trapped in this nightmare.

His visions were never like this.

He’d get flashes.

They never hurt.

This felt like the day he woke to find his face had been destroyed. That pain never went away, and he was pretty sure this pain would stay too.

“OKAY! I NEED YOU!”

Her laughter soothed him
. ‘Focus. What do you see?’

He used the calm she’d offered as a way to stare into his vision and confront what was happening.

“Arron Abrahms is being tortured. He’s tied to a chair, he’s being burned, cut, and abused. His body is turned inside out.”

Oracle said nothing.

She simply let him continue.

“He’s begging for his life.”

‘What is the killer saying, Lucian? Listen and tell me what you hear.’

Apparently, this Oracle couldn’t see the vision. She could only focus on controlling his pain as he navigated through it.

Great. At least he wasn’t in this shit fest alone.

“He’s whispering. He’s saying there will be more. There will be seven.”

‘Seven?’
she asked.

The pain was trying to push though. He could feel it. “Please don’t pull out of my head. If you do, I’ll die.”

She offered him reassurance.
‘I’m here. What else do you see? Can you see the killer?’

“No. I can’t see him. I can only see my friend, and it’s too late! I can only see what’s been done to him! He’s been butchered.”