Visions: The Mystical Encounter Series (The Mystical Encounter Series Book 1) (10 page)

“Something’s bothering you.” He glanced over to where I was staring and frowned. “You’re still wondering about Mr. Barton, aren’t you?” he asked warily.

“Sorry, but I can’t shake this feeling I have. We need to find out if any evidence exists inside his house before the police visit. When they come here I’m afraid he’ll do something drastic.”

“Good point. If he’s guilty, he may try to leave once the police come, or hide some crucial piece of evidence.”

“Then we’ll never be positive if he’s guilty.” We sat there, defeated, as darkness started to descend upon us.

“We need to break in,” Barry stated flatly, startling me with his devious ways.

Tilting my head to the side, I smirked. “Speaking from experience?”

“No.” He chuckled. “But I do know where the janitor keeps his jimmy. I’ll sneak it out so we’ll have something to work with.”

“His what?”

“His jimmy…‌a device to unlock doors. That’s not its official name, but it’s fitting since you jimmy the lock to…‌uh, never mind. I’ve seen him use it multiple times on classroom doors. It should work for us. I’ve already seen his back door and we’re in luck, it’s a standard lock with no deadbolt.”

Trying to hide my smile, I gazed at him with wonderment. Never having pegged him for a sneaking–around, criminal–minded person, I couldn’t help but ask, “Just how do you plan on getting this device, or should I ask Mr. Deviant?”

He let out a laugh before answering, “I have my ways. When you’re considered a
good
student you gain a lot of peoples’ trust.” With an arch of his eyebrow, he grinned mischievously.

We decided to break–in tomorrow afternoon after Mr. Barton left for work, or wherever he went at that time. That will leave us Thursday to talk to the detective. If they believe us, they can exhume his body by Saturday. Providing no mishaps occur, that was our plan anyway.

Not exactly sure what I expected to find, at least searching his house would put my mind at ease…

My eyelids kept getting heavier and heavier before I succumbed to the darkness of the night. Providing how badly my body needed that sleep, one would figure the last few remaining hours would be peaceful. Not in my case. Hardly any time passed before Johnny made his appearance inside my head. The dream started the same, with him playing in his backyard, but then changed. The tone suggested a sense of urgency. Flashes of previous visions kept popping up like a fast forward button was being pressed. Every scene came to an abrupt halt showing Johnny sitting by himself in a white room. In slow motion, he turned toward me with a tear–streaked face, and opened his mouth to speak. Next thing I heard was Johnny’s voice saying the words “Christopher Warfelt.”

To my dismay, I jolted out of the dream. I closed my eyes in vain, wanting desperately to fall back asleep. Please, if I could just sleep long enough, then I’d get to ask Johnny who Christopher Warfelt was. The adrenaline pumping through my veins wasn’t going to allow any more sleep tonight, no matter how hard I pleaded. Finally conceding, I rubbed my face, and sighed. With great reluctance, I reached over to my nightstand and turned on my lamp. There wasn’t any use fighting it. With a huff, I grabbed an envelope lying near the edge, and scribbled the name across it.

As I stared at what’s written, I speculated who he could be.
Is he the killer?
Frustrated, I slammed the paper on the table, and flopped back down on the bed. This unsolved crime had yet another puzzle piece. Except that piece was oddly shaped with tabs that didn’t fit into any of the other’s. Still unable to sleep, I continued wondering if this mystery would ever be solved.

~11~

Trespassing

“Barry…‌Are you sure that’s going to work?” I questioned as he was jamming the device in between the lock and doorframe. To me, it didn’t appear that it would, much less in the timely fashion that we needed. As I stood beside him, I was getting anxious. I kept watch, paranoid that somebody would see us. We were relatively safe since none of the other neighbors were home yet. But that knowledge did little to calm my nerves.

“Sure, I just need to…” A clicking sound snapped through the air sending a thrill through my body. “See…? I knew what I was doing.” He smirked, tossing his head confidently.

“Uh–huh.” I laughed nervously, peering over my shoulder as Barry laid the device on the back step. We opened the door and entered with caution. As I took that first step into the house, I wondered why I talked him into this. It was probably a bad idea.
What if we get caught?
I wasn’t sure what I expected to find, and it seemed like a huge risk to take for just pacifying my nerves. Not voicing any concerns out loud, I remained quiet. There wasn’t any point in turning back now since we’re already indoors.

The first room we stepped into was the kitchen. After a quick scan, my first thoughts led me to be impressed. He was a bachelor after all, and that room was immaculate. Nothing on the countertops was out of order. But upon deeper inspection, there appeared to be a reason behind the spotlessness‌—‌there weren’t any items to be out of place. The only thing on the countertops was a set of stainless canisters which reminded me of the ones you’d find in a doctor’s office. Instead of cotton balls, sugar would be the replacement. Just a teaspoon of sugar…

Astonished, I went over and opened a cabinet door, trying to dispel childhood melodies out of my head. As I pulled the door open, I was taken aback by the systematic order. Everything was in its place, organized, and labeled accordingly. Every can, by vegetable, color, and size, lined up. First the greens…‌tall can of asparagus, French cut green beans, peas then moved to the yellows…‌creamed corn, yellow corn, and the small shoe peg corn…‌It was creepy.

Barry came up beside me, glanced inside, and said, “This guy’s wacked.”

A small laugh escaped as I agreed. “Yeah, but let’s go try to find something other than small greens.”

The house was small, something for which I was thankful. Given our time constraint, it shouldn’t take long to search everything. Basically there was a hallway dividing the house into two sections. From the west side, I’d previously noticed four windows, which I assumed were bedrooms and apparently his kitchen. The east side‌—‌the one facing my house‌—‌held the living room and probably the bathroom.

Earlier we had decided to start in the main room, make our way through the bedrooms, and then search the basement. As we turned to leave, Barry bowed as he extended his right arm saying, “Ladies first.”

I smiled suggestively at him, loving his goofiness.

When I stepped through the doorway leading into the hallway, my smile dropped instantly as I came to an abrupt halt. My breath caught when a darkened aura descended upon me, encapsulating my body. I swallowed hard as the strangulating sensation tried taking over. Straight across from me was a single door, which had me mesmerized. Most people would just see an ordinary, solid–pine door. But there wasn’t anything normal about that one, it was dark, sinister. As if holding me captive, I narrowed my eyes while continuing to glare. It wasn’t hard to figure out where the door led. The negative vibe emitting from it left little doubt that it opened to the basement. I couldn’t pull my eyes away as it continued to tantalize me.

An image of Johnny being dragged through the doorway flashed through my mind, and I wondered if he was conscious before being placed in that pit. The thought of him suffering through an experience like that made bile creep into my throat. That nauseated feeling kept me glued to my spot.

At some point, we had to go down there, but not now. Earlier, we both agreed to investigate that room last, and considering how I felt, that was a smart choice. Once I entered the same room where Johnny was placed, I knew my vision would be strong. Before that happened, we needed to find solid evidence against Mr. Barton. Proof would be needed for the police to have a chance at arresting him. My vision wouldn’t hold up in court, and I wanted that guy convicted.

Barry, who seemed to understand my purpose for staring at that door, broke through my trance by gently nudging me. As I followed him to the living room, I kept peering back. The uneasiness wouldn’t go away, but I needed to concentrate on our current task as we entered the main room.

It took a whole two seconds to realize that room was as orderly as the kitchen. After quickly scanning his house‌—‌the parts readily visible‌—‌that seemed to be the consistent theme. Very impersonal. There weren’t any knickknacks or pictures displayed. If I didn’t know differently, I’d say nobody lived there. That impersonal void of a home put me in mind of a staged house‌—‌an empty house for sale that had been planted with furniture, waiting for the next unsuspecting buyer. But this wasn’t a staged home. No, someone lived here, but there wasn’t any proof. It had a strong sense of sterility about it, a sharp coldness which made us afraid to touch anything in fear of contaminating it.

I fleetingly wondered if we should have removed our shoes‌—‌if any drop of dirt, or tracking of footprints showed, our cover would be blown‌—‌but checking behind us, we didn’t appear to be leaving any trail. We lucked out because the carpet was older Berber, which didn’t show footprints. After a brief inspection of the room, there wasn’t anything significant. Moving on into his bedroom, we bypassed the
guest
bedroom. Barry went over to inspect it, but the room was completely empty. I guess there wasn’t a need for furniture since he apparently never had guests. Strange, you’d think he’d at least have a desk.

“Look for a small box or something similar,” I said, entering his bedroom. “Sometimes the killer will keep items from their victims as a souvenir, or something that will glorify them like a newspaper article. And make sure you place everything back the way you found it. He’s very detail–orientated, and will know at once if someone’s been in here.”

Upon opening his closet, unsurprisingly his shirts and pants lined up perfectly. If the kitchen was any indicator, I half expected it. What did surprise me was the shirts and pants being the same color‌—‌tan and brown, respectively
. How boring is this guy’s life?
A little flabbergasted, Barry came up beside me, peeking in.

“This guy has a serious compulsive disorder,” he said shaking his head.

“Obsessive compulsive disorder isn’t a crime, but this man seems strange. Hmm. Since you’re taller, take the upper shelf, while I take the lower half,” I directed.

After thoroughly searching through his closet, we didn’t find anything. After checking underneath the bed, and all through the dresser drawers, we still came up short. Frustration set in rather quickly, and if I didn’t clear my mind, I’d make a mistake. I turned, walking over to the back wall. With my back against it, I placed my hands to the side of my head as I slid down into a crouch position. Think…‌I need to think. What am I missing? He was involved, I could sense it, but I was overlooking something.

Unmistakably irritated by that point, I sat there knowing there wasn’t any other choice but to go down to the basement. Evidence or not, I had to find out if he was Johnny’s abductor. I dreaded that vision, but to be positively sure Mr. Barton’s guilty, I had no other choice.

Actually, I was surprised by my lack of visions thus far. Being short on time, I’d been careful on what I touched, but I would’ve thought something would’ve happened by now. He must not be attached to anything in that house.

Of course it could be that Mr. Barton’s innocent, and there was nothing for me to see. We may be breaking into his home for no reason‌—‌the thought had crossed my mind. I’d feel bad if that was the case, but I didn’t believe he was innocent. There weren’t any warm, cozy feelings inside that house. Nothing but evil. When I viewed that basement door, I swear it was present.

The thought brought shivers that forced me to take a deep breath. Upon opening my eyes, I stared straight ahead. The amount of light filtering in through the curtains had lessened, alerting us that nighttime was fast approaching. Then it hit me. There should be two windows in here. I’d been coming home enough times to know there were four of them along the west side‌—‌three long and one short. The front bedroom had one, and the smaller window was in the kitchen.
Where’s the fourth?

When I stood back up, another thing occurred to me, the room wasn’t proportionate. The wall with the closet seemed too close. I jolted up and dashed toward the hallway. Barry, a little stunned, asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Something’s off with this room. The size is wrong, it’s too small.”

Following me out still confused, he asked, “Like what?”

“Look at the south side wall in proximity to the inner kitchen wall. Besides, we seem to be missing a window in here. The room is supposed to have two.”

“You’re right. They don’t,” he exclaimed. “Here’s where the wall is and it’s clearly not lined up with the kitchen.” He ran down the hallway, pointing out where it should’ve been. From the kitchen wall, they were a good five feet apart.

Our eyes met as I whispered, “A secret room. But where’s the entrance?”

We both hurried toward the kitchen. His hands moved quick, working them along the wall. “Nothing here. It has to be in the bedroom,” he murmured.

With that we scurried back to the bedroom, anxiously wanting to find that opening. Once we stepped through the door, we glanced at the south wall. Together we said, “The closet.”

He wasted no time in pounding along the inside walls of the closet. After hitting the side facing west, it vibrated. Excitement began racing through me as I watched him study the wall. After a few seconds, he muttered, “Ah.”

With his hand placed on a concealed block of wood, the wall swung open after he gave it a tight pull. Intrigued, we walked through it carefully, trying not to knock over anything. We were close to finding out his secrets which made it hard not to rush. The one thing rushing, though, was my heart. It raced from anticipation, I was so excited.

As we entered, I quickly scanned the entire area. Small sized, painted in a boring off–white color, the walls were bare except for the missing, large window. If it wasn’t for the tiny wooden desk and two–drawer matching file cabinet, the room would be empty. On top of the desk sat a lamp and a pad of paper with a pen adjacent to it.
Such order
.