(Psychic Visions 01) Tuesday's Child (21 page)

"Right. There are several techniques. But it's not going to happen overnight. It will take practice. I can help, but it will take effort on your part."

Sam smiled. "That's fine. The more control, the more I can use my talents to benefit others."

Brandt interjected for the first time. "What do you want to do with them?"

A becoming pink blush that started at her neck, washed upward. Stefan watched Brandt's mesmerized gaze follow the color trail. No doubt about it, he had it bad.

Sam licked her lips and Stefan almost laughed aloud. Brandt looked like he was choking on something.

"I want to be able to help people. Or maybe animals." She told them about the incident with the dog at the hospital. "I don't know yet the best way to help. Partly because I don't know my own abilities and therefore don't know what is possible
to
do. I just know that I don't want to hide, and I don't want to be helpless."

Interesting. "First let's set up time to work on your control. We'll sort out what your talents are, which are strongest, and which need developing. You can go from there."

Both Brandt and Sam nodded.

"That makes good sense." Brandt glanced at his watch. "We're going to need to go soon."

Stefan took note of the color surrounding the two. Their energy danced around each other, close enough to blend, yet staying separate – at least for now.

Long fingers of sunshine touched and warmed the atmosphere. Stefan watched the sunlight dance with their energies.

Sam spoke again, interrupting his musings. "Stefan, can I ask you about the vision where I saw you – what were you doing there with Louise?"

Stefan smiled. "I knew her, years ago before she married. By the time I arrived, it was too late for her. All I could do to help was escort her to the other side."

"Escort?" Brandt's curiosity jumped out. "You mentioned this before."

Sam stared at him. "Crossing to the other side. Death."

Brandt shifted in his seat, one eyebrow raised, listening.

Sam turned back to Stefan. "Was this an unusual occurrence for you?"

Stefan thought about it. "It doesn't happen weekly or even monthly, but if there is a connection on any level, then I usually know what's happening."

"Were you close?" Sam flushed. "I don't mean to be personal, but when I was inside Louise I felt...different."

Intriguing. "I loved her. But she couldn't handle my life."

Sam nodded as if understanding what he meant. Maybe she did.

"What was she thinking about?" He admitted to being curious. He'd never experienced a psychic vision like hers. He studied Sam's face, searching for the truth.

"It's hard to say. My visions are overwhelmed with the physical trauma, though a little of their thoughts mix with mine. I don't remember much of hers, though. We were both more concerned with the car that wouldn't respond, then the crash, the fire...you know." Sam held her hands out. "That's about it until I saw you. Then it was my thoughts. I wasn't sure whom you were talking to – Louise or me." She waited for his answer.

He frowned. "Louise mostly, trying to get her to leave her body. Until the end, when I was talking to you because at that point, you were holding her back."

Understanding dawned in Sam's eyes. "That makes sense now." She cocked her head sideways. "Do you know how she died?"

"She was in a car accident. Her vehicle drove off the highway at Emerson Point."

"You know that?" Brandt shook his head.

"Sure, I could see her memories. One of the last things to happen before death is a rewind of the movie of your life." He glanced at Sam. "Don't you see that part?

She shook her head. "No. Mine are always violent deaths, and they don't have much time." She sat up straight. "Could you see why her car went over the cliff?"

Stefan stared at Sam. She almost vibrated with energy. "No, I came in later. What about you?"

"Only that her brakes weren't working. She pumped them hard." She shrugged. "Then she went off the road."

"What connects you to your visions?"

Sam shifted uneasily. "Usually violence. Lately it's been murder."

Stefan studied her. "You think Louise was murdered?"

"I think so, yes."

He frowned. "Did you connect with the same killer, in her case?"

"I don't know. I think so. It's his energy on the car."

"At the time of her death?

"Just before." Sam rubbed her hands together to warm them up. "No. As we went over the cliff, I thought I saw his signature. Once we crashed and burned, I wasn't looking at anything, but the flames and then you."

"What does that mean to you?" Brandt interjected, sitting on the edge of his seat. "I don't understand this energy signature stuff."

Stefan explained. "When you touch something, it leaves a bit of energy behind."

"This energy can dissipate quickly or hang around, depending on the energy of the person touching it and depending on how long the contact lasted."

Brandt jerked his head, urging them to continue. "That still doesn't mean much to me. Are you saying this guy owned or drove the car? Or did he just work on it for a little bit?"

Both Sam and Stefan shook their heads.

Stefan. "It's not that easy."

"No. I'm not sure I can say very much about his energy in this case. I only saw it long enough to recognize it. For me that means he's responsible for Louise's death." She wrinkled her nose at Brandt. "The how and whys, well, I thought that was your job."

"Except, there's nothing left to investigate. It burned to a crisp."

4:45 pm

Brandt and Sam drove to Parksville in almost total silence. Brandt's mind crowded with all he had to mull over, and he could only imagine what Sam was thinking. She'd set up the first session with Stefan in four days time. In the meantime, she had homework to do.

He, on the other hand, had regular work to do. He turned into the parking lot and pulled up beside her truck. Checking out the report on Louise Enderby was another priority. Stefan couldn't confirm that her brake line had been cut, yet he agreed that it was likely she'd been murdered.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'm good. Better than I have been in a long time." She collected her purse. "In fact, I should go home and review everything I've learned." She shifted to leave. "Thanks for taking me."

She opened the door and hopped out. "I'll talk to you later. Thanks again."

He walked around the truck to stand beside her. "Are you hungry? Do you want to go someplace to eat?"

Sam stopped and considered his offer. "You know, I think tonight I'd just like to be alone. My mind's a little overfull and I'd like some time to digest everything."

Brandt nodded. "Maybe another time?"

"Thanks, I'd like that."

Brandt didn't know if he should try to pin her down or not. He could understand her wanting to be alone tonight. He was the one that didn't want to be alone. Still, she'd been through enough for one day. Yet he couldn't leave it like this, he needed more. "I could pick up something and come down to your place tomorrow. If that works for you?"

Sam glanced back at him, startled. "That would be nice. Thank you."

"Good. I'll call you with a time when I see how the day is going." He walked to his truck. "Remember..." he said frowning, "be smart and stay alert. The killer is still trawling for victims."

"How could I forget?" She frowned at him. "I'm the one with the insider knowledge, remember?"

"Speaking of which, let me know if anything new pops up. Okay?"

"Alright."

Sam reversed her truck and pulled out of the parking lot in the direction of her home.

Brandt watched for a few minutes then headed back to Portland. He could retrieve his messages from there just as well as from the office.

The house sounded hollow as he shut the front door behind him. Today was perfect for a cold beer and a medium rare steak – too bad he didn't have either in the house. By the time he'd showered, the coffee had finished dripping and he'd decided on a hefty ham and cheese omelet with hash browns. Easy, doable, and fast.

With a plate of hot steaming food, Brandt clicked on the television. His stomach growled with hunger pangs. He dug in while listening to the local news.

"The police have issued a press release requesting the public's help in identifying the owner of this ring."

The television screen flashed to a sketch of a ring with a four-leaf-clover pattern and missing one stone. Brandt bolted to his feet. "What the hell?"

He circled around the coffee table to get a closer look. There was no doubt about it. It was his sketch. His stomach warred with his nerves. How had the media gotten this picture? The announcer had said something about the police asking for help. The picture must have come from his department. From his office. Only not from him.

Trying to be fair, Brandt ran through those who knew about the ring. Basically everyone. He'd brought it out at the meeting after explaining it could be connected to the killer he was hunting. He'd been trying to identify the owner for Christ's sake.

"God damn it." He paced around the living room, his mind working furiously.

He couldn't believe someone had jumped him on this. Surely, that could only have been the captain – or someone on his team. But why? This wasn't even an official case. Sam's information was a tip, yet that's all it was. The others didn't even believe her. Damn it. This could blow up in the department's face. And put him into hot water. There were few people willing to own up to having a psychic help out. If the information wasn't any good, many people would be up for crucifying the idiots who brought the psychic in. And the psychic.

Jesus, what about Samantha? His heart stopped beating. No. Sanity swept in. No there was no way she could be identified by this. Relief sent his heart racing again. There could be serious repercussions. If Sam were right, and the killer saw this newscast, he'd be seriously wondering how the police knew about it. The killer could just laugh it off, or it might drive him into a killing fury.

There was just no way to know.

8:05 pm

The evening news rippled outward to another man enjoying an evening alone in his apartment.

"Life is good." He walked to his refrigerator and pulled out a cold beer. Raising the bottle to the sky, he took a long swallow. The television was blaring from the other room. He heard something about the police asking for help and walked to where he could see the broadcast.

"What the hell..." The tall slight man leaned forward, slamming the bottle down on the hewn wooden table beside the World War II airport model he was building. He stared at the picture on the screen.

No way. No fucking way. How the hell did they know about his ring? He glared at the item still on his left hand. It had been his lucky ring for so long, he'd forgotten he was still wearing it. Pissed, he tore the offending thing off and threw it against the far wall.

Why would anyone be searching for his ring? He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. What did they know? Could they have connected the ring to his women? No. He thought about it. There's no way anyone could connect the ring to his victims. The cops would be pounding on his door if they were that close. So who else? They couldn't have captured a picture from a camera as he always wore gloves.

Disturbed, he slouched into the couch. The newscaster's voice washed over him in a continuous drone. What had he missed? What could he possibly have forgotten?

God damn it. No, there's no way anyone could know. He'd didn't make mistakes.

In a dour mood, he drank his beer and went over every move he'd recently made. He shook his head, feeling better. He hadn't missed anything.

Unless the last woman had survived.

He shot to his feet, disturbed. Not possible. Surely not. She'd been cold when he'd left her. She had to be dead. Except her death hadn't been reported.

The problem was, anyone could have seen the ring. He'd worn it as long as he could remember. Someone was sure to have noticed it somewhere along the way. He pondered the implications. First, he needed to make sure that woman had indeed died, then he needed to find a similar ring and wear it to fool anyone who may have thought he'd had on the ring the police were asking about. That way when anyone doubled checked, it would seem like they'd made a mistake. And last – he needed to never, ever leave a victim until he was sure she was dead.

9:35am, June 19
^th

Sam finally slept through the night. No nightmares, no visions, just sleep. Stefan's homework had helped. Lying in bed, feeling rested for the first time in several days, she rolled over and curled deeper into her blankets. Relaxation rolled through her.