Blood Dreams (10 page)

12

A
VICIOUS SERIAL KILLER
was bad enough, Dani thought; a vicious serial killer in possession of an unknown number of psychic abilities was, literally, the stuff of nightmares.

Her nightmares.

Everyone’s nightmares.

Finally, Marc moved his shoulders as though casting things off, and said, “Okay, we deal with that possibility—or probability—when we have to. For now we work the case, get up to speed on the investigation in Boston so far, and continue our investigation here. Any arguments?”

None were offered.

It wasn’t really a question when Marc asked Hollis, “You’ll be reporting in to Agent Bishop ASAP?”

“With your permission, in about five minutes. It’ll be on the QT, of course, at least unless—or until—we find enough evidence to convince the Director this is the same killer. Or until the media gets wind of it and he starts taking heat that way.”

Paris asked, “How much time do we have, realistically, before all that media attention starts?”

Marc shrugged. “You know we don’t have a local TV station, and our daily newspaper isn’t exactly known for its hard-hitting journalism. Plus, geographically we’re fairly isolated, so we don’t get many strangers or people just passing through. There’s a lot going on in Atlanta right now, as well as in the other major cities surrounding us, so plenty of news elsewhere.”

“But two victims of a brutal killer,” Dani said, “is news no matter how small the town. Especially these days, the way the media latches on to anything sensational. Once word starts to spread…”

Hollis looked at the sheriff with raised brows. “Hard to really tell from the photos, but I gather the crime scene was fairly remote, to say the least. How secure was it? How soon before word
does
leak out?”

“My people won’t talk. The families of the victims are going to be in shock for a while once they’re told. Bob and Karen didn’t have any kids; Becky’s parents are older and tend to keep to themselves. I don’t see any of them going to the media—or being very receptive if the media comes to them.”

“Even to make a public appeal for justice? That seems to be the thing these days.”

“Maybe in a few weeks or months. Not for a while.”

Hollis nodded. “Are they likely to go public in a smaller way, reach out to the community maybe for emotional support? Churches, that sort of thing?”

Marc looked at Jordan, who shook his head and replied, “The Huntleys don’t even belong to a church, far as I know. And Bob Norvell was never known as a joiner. Surprised me when he married.”

The room was silent for a few moments, and then Paris stirred and said, “Am I the only one who feels guilty because I know what happened to two missing women before their own families know?”

“You get used to it,” Hollis said. Then she shook her head. “Actually, no, you don’t. At least, I never have. Who
is
informing the families?”

“I am,” Marc said. “Or I will, when we have some kind of positive I.D. Either the DNA results or…”

…or we find the rest of them.

Not that he needed to say that.

W
hy didn’t you take me into the dream last night, Dani?”

Dani looked up with a start from the file she was studying, realizing only then that she and Marc were alone in the conference room.

“Don’t panic,” he said. “Jordan took Hollis out to the crime scene, but I’m sure Paris will be back in here any minute. The dream, Dani. You had it again last night.”

“I wasn’t going to panic.” She was about to remind him that they’d been alone together in his office but then fought a shiver as she wondered if they really had been.

“Dani?”

He saw too much—even without the benefit of psychic abilities. There was, she thought, probably something profound in that.

“It’s just…even though I didn’t take you in, you were there this time. You were part of the vision dream. You were there, and Hollis, and Bishop. And I had Paris’s abilities.”

“What?”

Dani nodded. “I think I did before, it’s just that last night I became aware of it. That she wasn’t there, when she should have been. That I had her abilities. More than her abilities, I think. Hollis seemed to feel that I…had some kind of weapon, that I didn’t need a gun.”

“Wait. You had Paris’s abilities? I wasn’t aware you and Paris could share abilities; I thought you could just enhance each other’s.”

“We can’t share them. At least, we never have. I’ve never been clairvoyant or had her secondary ability. And she’s never had precognitive dreams or visions.”

“Or been able to pull other people into her dreams?”

“No. She’s never been able to do that. And we tried, as kids.”

“Not since?”

Dani conjured a smile. “Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a fun secret we shared and started being our lives. Exploring our own psychic limits wasn’t really the priority, not for a long time. Since we started working for Haven, we’ve done more of that, of course, especially because John and Maggie believe siblings can make the best partners and they needed to know if we could be.”

“Found out yet?”

“Not really. We knew that we were always stronger individually when we worked together, just as you said, that my vision dreams are more vivid and Paris is more clairvoyant.”

“But no ability-sharing.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to try to do that.”

“But there are signs that your abilities, at least, are evolving.”

“Maybe. Okay, probably.” Dani managed a shrug, despite the tension she felt. “The sort of high-stress situations we get involved in can be life-altering in every way.”

“What do you mean?”

It was not a conversation Dani had wanted to have with Marc, but she found herself going on. “Just like the SCU team, members of Haven are seldom called in except when all the more conventional methods have failed. And the stakes are usually very, very high. So we push ourselves.”

“You always did do that.”

“Not the way I’ve pushed myself since signing on with Haven. The truth is that we don’t know what our limits are, none of us. Investigations, situations like this one…test the limits we believe are there. Maybe push us past them.”

“But?” He was watching her intently.

“But…sometimes the results aren’t all that positive. We get pushed into unknown territory, Marc. We’re dealing with electrical energy, remember, and there’s a lot of it in the human body, in the human brain. Trying to control that doesn’t always work or doesn’t work the way we expect it to.”

“Is that why you didn’t take me into your dream? Because you’ve discovered it’s dangerous?”

She half-nodded. “It’s a rare ability, apparently, dream-walking, so there isn’t much concrete information on it. Hell, there’s almost no information on it. But the theory developed by the SCU and all their doctors and research is that because I’m bringing someone else’s consciousness into my mind—where the level of electromagnetic energy is higher than normal—it could damage that person. Nonpsychics aren’t used to that kind of energy; their own brains aren’t hardwired to handle it the way ours are.”

“Are you saying someone
has
been hurt because you brought them into your dreams? Or is it all just theory?”

“
Just
theory is all most psychics have to go on. To live with. At least until something very bad happens to change theory into reality. And that theory makes sense. So the only one I’ve taken into my dreams since I joined Haven has been Paris. She’s psychic
and
my identical twin. We figured if anybody could handle it without being hurt, it would be her.”

“It didn’t seem to affect me,” he pointed out.

Dani managed another shrug, this one jerky. “Maybe for the same reason you can recognize psychic abilities in others.”
Or maybe because there was always a different kind of connection between us.

“Or maybe because we were lovers,” Marc said calmly.

“Maybe,” she said, striving to match his calm.

“The connection between us is still there, Dani.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know.”

H
ollis stood in the backyard of the vacant house, at the edge of what had been a lovely pool area before a monster had turned it into a scene of carnage now encircled by yellow crime-scene tape. The organs and other body parts had been removed, but bloodstains baked to a rusty tint by the hot Georgia sun still marred the lovely tile and stone, and the red-tinted pool was only partially drained.

She could hear flies buzzing.

Jordan cleared his throat when he noticed the direction of her gaze, and said, “The drain’s clogged. We have a call in to the pool-maintenance company. They may want to call a biohazard-removal company.”

“Everybody’s a specialist these days,” Hollis murmured.

“And your specialty is being a medium.”

Hollis was tempted to go into the whole most-wounded-in-the-unit thing but decided not to. Mostly because she hadn’t yet judged the tolerance level of the (really very good-looking) deputy; he had certainly handled everything thrown at him so far with apparent acceptance, but you just never knew what the tipping point might be.

“Yeah,” she said, “that’s my ability.”

“Is that why you wanted to come out here? Because you hope one of the victims will—will appear to you?”

“Well, don’t make it sound like it would be from behind a magic curtain,” she said dryly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Honestly, I didn’t. Just wasn’t quite sure how to put it.”

Hollis thought about it, then shrugged. “As good a way as any, I guess. And, yes, I thought I might see something. Or someone. I tend to, at crime scenes. Not always, mind you, but often enough to sort of expect it.”

Jordan looked around them somewhat warily. “So…do you? See anyone?”

“Not so far.”

“Huh. We wait, then, I take it?”

Hollis was conscious of both amusement and curiosity. “Tell me something, Deputy.”

“Jordan, please. I thought we’d gotten past that part, at least.”

“We have. Tell me something, Jordan. How come you’re so tolerant of all the psychic stuff? Most cops aren’t.”

“You’re a cop.”

“Yeah. Well, barely. Anyway, I belong to a special unit where being psychic is the rule. What’s your excuse?”

“Raised with it,” he said.

Hollis turned her head and stared at him. “You’re not the seventh son of a seventh son or anything like that, right?”

He smiled. “No, nothing like that. Not the mumbo-jumbo side of the paranormal. My grandmother wasn’t a gypsy fortune-teller. But she had the Sight. It’s been common in this area for generations.” He watched her brows rise, and added, “
Prophet
County, for a reason.”

It was her turn to say “Huh. That didn’t come up in the research. I wonder if Bishop knows.” Then she shook her head. “Oh, hell, of course he knows. Dani and Paris were born here, weren’t they?”

“Yep. And their mother was a medium, like you. Marc was born here, too; in his family, the
gift
has always been an interesting kind of variation. Not exactly psychic but with a better-than-average bullshit detector. The Purcells have always known who they could trust and who was lying to them; it’s one of the reasons they’ve been so successful politically. And maybe why Marc has been so successful as sheriff.”

Hollis said, “Huh,” again, and studied him more intently. “What about you? Your grandmother had the Sight and…?”

“And I don’t.” He shrugged. “I’ve never really decided whether it’s a regret or a relief, to be honest. But spending time around some of you who have to deal with it makes me lean a little toward relief. It seems to be more a burden than a gift.”

“Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s both. Sometimes a gift, sometimes a burden. But always an adventure.”

“That’s probably a healthy way to look at it.”

The words had hardly left his mouth when Hollis became aware that something was happening. After all this time, her physical reaction was always the same: All the fine hairs on her body stood out as though electrical energy filled the air, and goose bumps rose on her flesh as if someone had abruptly opened a door into winter.

She looked around slowly,
knowing
there was no mist really here but seeing it rising up from the ground. The creepy sight was difficult to ignore, but Hollis was able to when she saw a woman coming out of the pool, walking slowly up the steps out of the water, leaving no ripples behind.

She wore no bathing suit, but casual shorts and a short-sleeved top, and in fact appeared perfectly dry even though she had seemingly just left the red-tinted water. Her long, pale blond hair even gleamed a bit in the sunlight.

Hollis took a step toward her, so focused on what she was seeing that she totally forgot the deputy standing beside her.

“Who are you?” she asked. “I don’t recognize you.” She meant from the photos of the two missing women.

The woman glanced back at the pool behind her, and said, “You won’t find much else now.”

Hollis was surprised that the voice she heard was so normal but pushed that aside as unimportant at the moment. “Who are you?” she repeated.

“You don’t know about me yet.” She glanced back at the pool again, and her expression turned anxious. “Never mind that. Look for her in the water. And be careful. The trail he’s leaving for you isn’t what you think it is.”

Hollis opened her mouth to ask another question, experience having taught her that these visitations never lasted long, but before she could—

“Hollis?”

She looked down at Jordan’s hand on her arm, then at his concerned face, already aware that the temperature was hot again, that the energy in the area was gone. She looked back at the pool only to confirm her suspicions.

No woman or spirit stood at the edge of the red-tinted pool.

“What the hell just happened?” Jordan demanded.

“I’m not really sure,” Hollis answered slowly. “When did you say the pool-maintenance people were coming to clear the drain?”

“Supposed to be here tomorrow or Monday.”