7/11/08

Deadly Vision 1









Sorry if the formatting turns out weird here. Blogger was rather uncooperative!!!


Samantha Mitchell, psychic private investigator, is haunted by visions of a sociopath long thought dead. A man responsible both for the death of her father as well as the visions of death that haunt her daily. Now he’s back and looking to even the score. Samantha, using all her resources, must find this killer before all she loves is lost to a madman’s Deadly Vision……






Chapter One:

The phone rang, and Samantha’s first thought was that it was still dark. She

fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand with one hand, the phone with the other.

“ ’Lo?” she mumbled, finding the lamp switch and then squinting at the light.

“Sam? I need you to come look at something.”

She sighed, glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. Damn it.

“What happened?” Even as she spoke, she was out of bed and getting into jeans.

“Brief me a little here Mack, would you?”

“Sure, sure… well, we got a mess. One hell of a mess, that’s one thing to know.

Be ready for it okay?”

Sam pulled on her sneakers and listened. “Go on.”

“It looks like a stabbing. Lot of cuts, lot of blood. I mean everywhere. Walls, floor,

everywhere. It looks like the bastard painted with it. And he scalped her some.”

“Jesus,” Sam muttered. “The victim?”

“The house belongs to a Kathleen Knowles, age 25 and single, no kids. Looks like

she’s our vic. Pretty little thing.” She heard the pity in Mack’s voice. “Or was, anyhow.”

“Address?”

Mack gave her the location and she was on her way. She grabbed her bag, her keys

and stopped on her way out the door to give herself a quick once over in the full length

mirror in the bathroom.

Her blond hair was sleep tousled, her jeans wrinkled. She didn’t notice the way

they hugged her petite frame in all the right places, or the way the pale blue shirt set off

her tan. She hurriedly brushed her hair, grabbing a band to pull it back with. Making sure

to lock the door behind her, she ran to the car.

It was warm even for August, so she drove with the windows down, not even

noticing the streets or familiar houses she passed. Main Street was still sleeping, the brick

buildings dark, windows shuttered for the night. Upstairs blinds were drawn in the loft

like apartments that served as home to many of the people who ran the shops there.

Sam’s mind registered this without even realizing it. Her mind was on once pretty

Kathleen Knowles.

It wasn’t as if she wasn’t used to being shaken from sleep at this hour, or used to

being called to a homicide. She’d done it at least a dozen times, maybe more. She had

trained for this, to see the worst… yet it still unnerved her, still touched her. In her own

way, she was still green. Maybe she always would be; who knew? As long as it never

showed outwardly, she could deal with it. As an on again-off again consultant for the

local police force, it came with the job. Unfortunately.

She reached 165 Oak Street in record time, flashed her IDs at the officers out

front, ignored the sighs and eye rolls, made her way past the crime scene tape and into the

house. She knew it was bad when she noticed the ME’s assistant losing his dinner in the

bushes.

The coppery smell hit her instantly, making her stomach roll and a thin line of

perspiration break out on her upper lip. She sucked in her breath, closing her eyes briefly

It always threw her that blood and pennies smelled so alike. Then she saw. The entire

room was almost completely covered in blood. The walls were slowly drying to brownish

rust, same as the floor. The floor was a river of red, drying but tacky enough to look like

wet paint. Brick colored wet paint.

She simply stood there a moment looking around, eyes wide, breath hitching

slightly. She barely noticed Mack approaching her, hair disheveled from sleep, his dress

shirt wrinkled, a pair of booties in his huge hand.

It just proved how bad the scene really was. Mack wasn’t the sort of guy you

overlooked. At six- one in his bare feet, he was built like a wrestler, with a slight beer

belly protruding over pants that always looked like they needed ironing. His disheveled

appearance had nothing to do with the early hour; it was simply part of his charm. Next to

Sam, he looked like a giant.

“Here, slip these on. Too much blood to be traipsing around,” he said quietly.

She nodded, and stepped out the door to put the booties on. “Good God, Mack,

what the happened here?”

“Hell happened here,” he told her. “Or one variation.”

“That’s a lot of blood in there. There’s no way it could all be hers.”

“Won’t know for awhile, but I’d wager you’re right there. She doesn’t look to

have bled that much. A good bit, but not that much.”

Samantha exhaled slowly. “The killer’s blood? Another victim? Some ritual or

something?”

“We can assume anything right now, Sam. It’s too soon to do anything but

guess.” A pause. “Didn’t kill the cat, though. Maybe the bastard has a soft spot for them.”

“There’s a cat?”

He jerked his head toward the bag of cat food sitting in the hall. “Huge ass cat,”

he observed. “White male.”

Sam managed a wry smile. “You make him sound like a perp. Wonder why he got

to survive.”

Mack grunted. “Wonder where the hell he was when it happened. Cat’s still snow

white, not a speck of blood on him.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Interesting.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, then sighed. “I’m tired of this shit.”

Sam nodded absently, noticing that her vision was starting to blur. “Yeah…” she

trailed off softly, and Mack was instantly aware.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“I think I’m having a vision,” she told him, her voice far off, her eyes glazed.

“OK,” he said, cursing under his breath and pushing the door closed a little.

“What do you need?”

“Nothing… the walls are such a pretty blue,” she informed him. “It’s quiet, just

the cat purring on the bed. The blanket is blue and white... a quilt. It looks handmade.

She isn’t afraid. Not even tense. She doesn’t know he’s there, watching her. She’s

humming; brushing her hair… he likes her hair.”

“Who likes it, Sam?” Mack asked sharply, and Sam frowned, confused.

“I… I don’t know for sure. But he likes it. He wants to touch it, taste it, keep it.

He’s going to… take some.”

She was starting to sweat and shake, and her eyes were darting around the room,

seeing what had been, instead of what was right this minute. She saw a pretty blue

bedroom while Mack saw the drying remains of a bloodbath. And she was not in the

victim’s thoughts at all… she was in his, and that was a dangerous place for her to be.

She needed a way out, and she needed it now. Mack reached out to grab her hands; she

was going in too deep. He knew the drill.

She pulled her hand away reflexively, and smiled almost sadly. “It used to be

more of a challenge, but now…now it’s just so easy.”

“Sam,” he said harshly. “Come on, Sam, snap out of it!”

"It’s so easy and no one will ever know. None of the dumb hick assholes here will

ever know…”

She was shaking violently now, anger and terror mixing, because she was still

Sam, mixed in with the thoughts of a monster, and she was terrified of the mind she was

inside. Mack grabbed her, gave her a quick shake.

She jerked, blinked slowly, and then started to breathe again. “Oh my God, Mack,

oh my God,” she whispered, and wanted so badly to sit down. “No... It can’t be….It isn’t

possible…”

He took her hand, hating to see what she was going through. He loved the kid like

his own… hell, she practically was his own. And right now, he wanted his hands on

whoever, or whatever had put that look in her eyes. “Sammie?”

"It was him,” she whispered, eyes wide with terror, and Mack stopped breathing

for a moment. “Oh, sweet Jesus, Mack, I don’t know how, but it was him.”

He stared at her, unable to think of the right words, any words, to say. Then he

moved, almost dragging her from the room, and out into the night air. As soon as they

were clear of the house and no one was watching, Sam sank to the ground and sat, putting

her head in her hands. He could hear her breathing, shallow and ragged, and he waited.

“I have my cooler in the car,” she said finally, and he knew what to do.

Within seconds it seemed, Sam had a bottle of ice cold water in her hand and a

cool cloth on the back of her neck. This type of thing didn’t happen too often, going in

that deep, but it had happened enough for her to know what to bring. Just in case.

“Sam?” He spoke quietly, easing himself down on the curb next to her. Her hands

were still shaking and she was taking measured sips of the water, closing her eyes each

time she swallowed. “Can you tell me what you meant back there?”

She looked at him with haunted eyes and he knew. He knew, had known the

second he saw the victim. But dammit, he had to hear her say it to make it real. And as

much as he hated himself for what it was costing her, he couldn’t change it.

“It was him. We thought he was dead, but…” She trailed off, smiled thinly,

humorlessly. “He wanted us to.”

“There’s no way, Sam. You and I both know that. That man is dead. I was there,

remember? I shot him, he drowned. End of story.” He sounded uncertain, though, and

Sam heard it.

“And you and I both know that they never found the body. The case was closed

then, wasn’t it? One serial killer dead, everything wrapped up nice and neat.”

He ran a hand through his short gray hair and sighed deeply, defeated. “Are you

sure?”

She nodded, tears glistening. “I’d know him anywhere Mack. Anytime, anywhere.

I know his mind. It still feels exactly the same. It still…”

She broke off and sighed. Mack turned his head for a moment, and when he

glanced back at her, he could see a single tear sliding down her cheek in the glow of the

streetlight. She’d lost a lot of dreams, he thought. A lot of who she had been, who she

was going to be. And in its place, she’d gained these… gifts… that seemed to cause more

hurt than healing.

1 comment:

Jenni Bates said...

I'm liking it so far.... a lot!