Bound by Blood (The Garner Witch Series) (8 page)

I thought back to one of our nightly phone conversations.

“You’re amazing. How is it you’ve accomplished so much at such a young age?” I was impressed as he described the obstacles he’d overcome while growing his business.

“I am a little older than I appear,” he answered, a peculiar tone to his voice.

“How old are you?”

“How old do you think I am?” he countered.

“I thought you were around thirty when I met you, but after your last statement, I am going to guess…thirty-five.”

“That is a good guess,” he mused.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I knew my voice sounded petulant, but really, it was a simple question.

“That is another good assumption.” I got the distinct impression he found the whole exchange entertaining. I could practically hear his smile over the phone.

“Okay, fine,” I conceded. “I’ll let you keep your secrets
for now
. Personally, I think you just want to appear mysterious so I’ll like you,” I joked.

“And is it working?” he asked earnestly. “Do you like me?”

I sighed, tired of resisting my feelings. For someone who could interpret everyone else’s emotions, renouncing my own was not something I wanted to continue. “Too much, unfortunately,” I whispered.

“Brianna,”—he exhaled as if he was relieved by the admission—“I am going to attempt this once more.” He paused, seeming uncharacteristically nervous.

“Attempt what?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me Saturday night?”

I hesitated, and a stretch of silence passed until I finally responded. “I’d love to have dinner with you, Nathan.”

“How is eight o’clock?”

“That would be great,” I answered. “But I should really say goodnight for now. I have to work in a few hours. For some reason, I always seem to lose track of time when we talk. I’ll see you Saturday.” I sighed, not wanting to hang up.

“All right, then. I will see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams,” he whispered softly.

“Sweet dreams.”

My morning coffees and nightly conversations with Nathan passed quickly; it was the rest of the week that crawled. Civilians tend to think investigative work is as exciting as it looks on television, when, in reality, most of it is unbearably tedious. Morrison and I spent our days re-interviewing acquaintances of the first two victims, trying to determine if either one had a psychic ability—or, according to Morrison, were under the delusion they were psychic. Not one of the people we’d spoken to so far had even hinted toward it.

It wasn’t until Thursday that we found what we were looking for.

Charlene Nelson worked with Leslie Harper at the Denver Human Services child welfare division, and they were both child case workers.

“Okay, Charlene. We’re almost through,” I promised. “You told the other agents that you and Leslie became close friends, is that right?”

“Yes. Best friends,” she answered shakily, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

“Was there anything about Leslie that was…
different
from everyone else?” I asked carefully, not wanting to plant ideas. If she knew anything, she had to tell me without prompting.

The question caught her by surprise, and had her snapping her head in my direction. “What do you mean?” she asked, but I didn’t sense she was confused by the question. Just stalling to answer. In fact, her emotions were warring within. I couldn’t hear the thoughts behind them, but I felt her sudden urge to reveal something. Yet, at the same time, she felt guilty for wanting to breach a trust.

“I think you know exactly what I’m asking,” I said, staring steadily into her eyes. “I think there’s a secret you want to tell me, one that you promised Leslie you would never divulge to anyone.” Judging from her spike of anxiety, I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. “Charlene, sometimes it’s the details we think are insignificant that wind up being the most important. I’m sure, under the circumstances, Leslie would understand if you shared her secret.” I placed my hand over hers with silent assurance, and felt the acquiescence settle over her.

“There was something extraordinary about Leslie, but I don’t think you’ll believe me if I tell you.”

“Try me.”

She closed her eyes briefly and blew out a deep, fortifying breath. “I didn’t believe it myself when I saw it, but Leslie had a… talent. She called herself a dream walker. She could enter other people’s dreams.” Her eyes locked onto mine warily, waiting for a negative response.

“Please, continue.” I maintained the composed and professional mien for anyone watching, but on the inside I was reeling from the announcement.

“I found out by accident when I was working on a case last year. I was frustrated and depressed, so Leslie took me out for drinks. I told her I was positive a child of a family I was investigating was being abused, but I had no proof. My supervisor was insistent I close out the file. Apparently, the father was pretty important, and exerting a fair amount of political pressure to have my assignment closed. I cried to Leslie because I knew he was abused, but he wouldn’t trust anyone to help him. The kid was terrified and even hinted that his father would never go to jail because he had too many friends.” Her hands were shaking as she retold the story.

“Anyway, I complained about the system, got drunk, and tried to put it out of my mind. Two days later, I was about to close out the file when it happened. Leslie came to me in a dream and told me the boy would talk to me if I met with him again. When I woke up, I tried to brush it off, but I felt compelled to go to the boy one last time.” She looked up with tears shimmering in her eyes.

“He told me everything. It had been going on for years, but he was too scared to say anything. I had him safely removed from the home, and placed in a family member’s care. I went to check on him about a month later, and he was so happy—it was fantastic. I asked him why, after all the times I’d spoken to him, he finally decided to tell me the truth. He said he had a dream about one of the case workers in our office. In the dream, she witnessed the abuse he suffered, and convinced him to tell me everything. The next day when I approached him, he was ready to talk.”

“Did you ever ask Leslie about it?”

“Yes. At first she brushed it off as just a dream, but when I pressed, her she finally told me the truth. Leslie had an unusual rapport with her kids, and she was always able to get them to open up to her. She admitted to me that she visited them while they were sleeping, an ability she’d had since she was a teenager. She said people couldn’t hide in their dreams. Once she saw what was going on in her kids’ lives and what they feared, she would talk to them, dispel their fears of coming forward, and then suggest they talk to her when she next approached them. They always talked.”

“Did she somehow control them?” I asked

She was shaking her head before I finished the question. “No. I thought the same thing. She explained that she merely helped them work through their fears and earned their trust at a time when they were open to her. She said that whether their waking mind was aware or not, they were still talking about their problems and learning to trust her. Consciously, it was much easier for them to open up afterward. They still had free will to do as they chose.” A wistful smile crossed her lips as she remembered Leslie, then I felt the grief overwhelm her again. “She loved helping k—kids.” The last word broke on a sob.

“I am sorry for your loss.” I soothed. “And I want you to know that you did the right thing in telling me.”

She sniffled. “Do you think it will help anything?”

“Yes. Actually, I do.” I was about to say goodbye when I thought of something else. “Did Leslie tell anyone else about her talent?”

“Not that I know. She said I was the only person who knew. She had no family, and I was her closest friend. And it’s not the kind of thing you announce at the office.”

Boy, I understood that. “Thank you Charlene.”

We drove in silence back to the office. Not in the mood to chat, I’d had a horrible sense of foreboding, and it wasn’t the first time this morning.

Morrison too, remained uncharacteristically quiet until we reached the office.

“You have excellent instincts for gaining the witness’ trust.” We sat down at our desks. “I think we may have found our common link between the victims. At least two considered themselves psychic. Now we need to confirm if anyone suspected the same of our first victim.”

“There isn’t even a small part of you that wonders if it could be true?” After what we’d heard from two witnesses about their gifts, I couldn’t believe Morrison still thought it was just their imagination.

“No.”

“How do you explain the incidents that their friends described?”

“There will be a logical explanation for both.”

I didn’t press the issue. Who was I to change what he believed, even if it was a narrow-minded perspective.

For the rest of the day, I couldn’t shake this portentous feeling I’d been having all morning. Not only with this case, but something else... I knew in my gut that something was…off, but I didn’t know what. My instincts were usually attuned these things, so I became restless.

Panic inexplicably gripped me right before Teresa, my boss’ assistant, poked her head into my office. “Hi, Brianna. Agent Hunter asked me to track you down. He needs to speak with you right away.”

“Okay...” I had an awful churning in my stomach. “I’ll be right there.”

Something bad was about to happen. I knew it the moment I entered Agent Hunter’s office. His usual friendly smile was absent, his body oozed tension, and—oh, God—sympathy. “Hello, Brianna, please sit down.”

I took a seat and waited.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Brianna, I spoke with SAIC Botsford in Chicago earlier. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. Your father suffered a massive heart attack and was rushed to the hospital late last night.”

I gasped. “Is he alright?” I asked, ignoring the screaming doubt inside my head. I felt pity surrounding him like a cloud, and I knew in my heart that my father was dead.

Agent Hunter shook his head, his expression somber. “I’m so sorry Brianna...” His voice trailed off. He was still speaking, but I couldn’t recall what he said. My anguish drowned out his words and overshadowed everything else. The gaping emptiness in my chest, the only thing I felt. The rest of the world disappeared as I struggled to hold back my tears. All I kept thinking was how I rushed him off the other night and the fact I was annoyed he’d flown all the way to Denver to check on me. Guilt and grief warred inside me.

Morrison escorted me to a plane and assured me he would take care of everything while I made funeral arrangements and settled my father’s affairs. Agent Hunter gave me a week to do what needed to be done.

Before I got on the plane, Morrison turned to me with concern. “I’m so sorry, Brianna, for your loss. Are you going to be okay when you get to Chicago?”

“I’ll be okay,” I answered numbly.

“I can fly with you to Chicago, take you to your father’s house, and make sure you get settled.” The thoughtfulness of his offer no longer surprised me. Despite his cocky demeanor, Morrison was a great guy.

“No, thank you. But I’m truly grateful for the offer.” He leaned in and hugged me. I squeezed him back, thankful for the small affection. “Keep me posted on the case.”

“Don’t worry about the case. It’ll be here when you get back. Take care of your family first.”
What family
? I thought sadly. My father was the only family I’d had. And for the first time in my life, I felt truly alone in the world.

Luckily, Friday was nothing but a haze. I didn’t have the time for the tears, regret and guilt threatening to overwhelm me. I was inundated planning the memorial, packing my father’s belongings, and meeting with realtors and lawyers.

Finally, Saturday arrived—the day of the funeral. Preoccupied with the plans, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d forgotten my cell phone in my luggage, or that I hadn’t spoken to Nathan since Thursday morning. We were supposed to have a date tonight. It completely slipped my mind. I called to cancel, but there was no answer so I left a message.

“Hi, Nathan.” My voice sounded rough. “I’m sorry to call you at the last minute, but something unexpected came up and I have to cancel our plans tonight. I’m out of town for a few more days, but I’ll explain when I get back.” Disconnecting, I mentally prepared for the funeral.

It was a warm, sunny spring day in Chicago. The bright and cheerful setting the antithesis to the dark emptiness growing inside me. I‘d shed so many tears, I felt like I couldn’t cry anymore. Fixated on the picture of my dad at the front of the church, I listened attentively while the priest spoke. The realization I would never see my father again was an impossible reality to face.

While we had no other family, my father had several loving and devoted friends. Having them here, surrounding me, provided a small measure of comfort. After bestowing their sympathies, we talked and reminisced about my dad. Unfortunately, my metaphysical gifts were tied directly to my emotions. Given that those were all over the place the past two days, I struggled to keep up my shields.
My
grief was already unbearable, so it was harder when I felt other people’s sorrow layered on top. I was like a psychic amplifier of pain. Nevertheless, if I focused my thoughts I could almost numb it out.

During the funeral service I sat in the front row, not at all surprised by how many people had attended. He was well liked. My eyes brimming with unshed tears, I quietly reflected on the nostalgic words spoken on his behalf.

Partway through the service, an unexpected trembling racked my body when a blast of electricity suddenly enveloped me. Rolling through the air, it slammed into me like a tidal wave. Eerily similar to the occurrences in Denver, it took me completely by surprise. I glanced around anxiously, trying to locate the source of the disturbance. That’s when I caught sight of Nathan standing in back of the crowd.
What is he doing here?
Could he have heard about my father’s death from my work and flown out to console me? How could that be? No one knows I’d been in contact with him. He was still
technically
a person of interest in our investigation, and the FBI would never reveal my location to him. My mind raced furiously with questions as our eyes connected for the first time.