The Soul Summoner (The Soul Summoner Saga Book 1) (14 page)

My hand was shaking as I took the gun through the open portion of the window. He stepped backward to the sidewalk again. I took a deep breath and slid the transmission into park without pulling the car over. I figured that I could only benefit from completely blocking the street with my car. I left the engine running and carefully got out.

His gun was shaking in my hand. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

He seemed to relax a little. "I saw you on the news. You helped save that little girl." 

"And?" I asked.

He hesitated for a moment. "And I couldn't read you."

For a second, I thought my heart had stopped beating. 

"I've never met anyone I couldn't read," he added. We stared at each other in loaded silence for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he spoke again. "What are you?"

"A publicist."

He laughed. "That's not what I meant."

I couldn't laugh if I had wanted to. "I know what you meant, but I don't have an answer for you. I don't know what I am. What are you?"

He shook his head. "I don't know either."

"I can't tell if you're good or evil," I admitted. 

He laughed again. "Sometimes, I can't either." 

I cut my eyes at him and studied his face in the light of the streetlamp. "Are you a serial killer?"

His eyes widened. "Are you?"

"No," I answered.

"Would you tell me if you were?" he asked.

"Probably not," I replied.

He shrugged again. "Then I guess it doesn't matter what I say, but I'm not a serial killer, and I promise I'm not here to hurt you. I just needed to meet you. Can we please talk?"

 I thought about the stack of photographs of dead girls I had in my briefcase. "This isn't a really good time in my life to be talking to strangers."

He was quiet for a moment and then raised his hands again. "How about this? I'm going to empty my pockets and give you everything I have. I have a knife, and I'm going to open it and then close it and it's yours. Again, I promise I won't make any sudden moves." 

Nervously, I nodded and raised the gun slightly. 

He reached into his pockets and retrieved a large pocket knife from one and a set of keys from the other. He left his pockets turned out. He tossed the keys at my feet, then pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and tossed it over. Next, he took the knife, opened it, and pricked his finger with the tip. He closed it again and slid it across the concrete toward me. "I'm going to walk to the front of your car," he said.

I was puzzled, but nodded again.

Slowly, with his hands still raised and blood trickling down his left index finger, he crossed in front of me to my front bumper. He wiped the blood on the hood of my car and then spat on it. 

My mind raced trying to make sense of what was happening.

He raised his hands again and walked back to the sidewalk. "Now you have my gun, my identification, my knife, my getaway keys, and enough of my DNA to clone me. Do you think we can relax and you can at least put my gun down on your car or something? You're shaking so bad that I'm afraid you might shoot yourself in the foot."

The tension began to leave my shoulders. Slowly, I placed the gun on the lid of my trunk. 

He pointed to it. "Would you mind spinning the barrel away from us?"

I turned the gun so that it pointed down the street. He let out a deep sigh of relief. 

I stretched my sweaty hands for a moment and took several deep breaths. 

He sat down on the curb and looked up at me. "You OK?" 

"Yeah." I sighed and looked down at him, but I was still unwilling to move from my spot. "Why did you come here?" 

He shrugged his shoulders and draped his long arms over his knees. "Curiosity, I guess," he answered. "I've been all around the world a few times and have never encountered anything like you."

He was verbalizing my thoughts. "A stranger," I finally said.

"Yes!" He pointed at me. "That's exactly it!"

I nodded. "I feel the same way about you." 

We studied each other. Finally, he spoke. "I know when people are alive or dead."

I narrowed my eyes. "Prove it." 

He looked around the empty street. "How?"

My briefcase was in my house, but Nathan had given me the files of the suspects that evening. They were in the car. I pointed at him. "Don't move." He lifted his hands in the air again. I reached into my car and retrieved the folders from the passenger's seat. I pulled out the four photos of the suspects. 

I looked at him from my car for a moment before taking a bold step forward. "Don't try anything," I warned him. 

"You have my word," he said.

I sank down on the curb next to him and offered him the pictures. His hand brushed against mine and a jolt, like a warm, gentle buzz of electricity shot through me. Our eyes locked. He felt it too. 

"That was weird," he said, wide-eyed with genuine surprise.

"Very weird," I agreed. "What was it?"

He shook his head and smiled a little. "I don't know, but it didn't hurt." 

After a moment of letting the air settle back down, I nodded to the pictures. "Tell me."

He flipped through them. "This guy is alive. This guy is alive. This guy is dead. And this guy is alive."

Slowly, my eyes met his. "You're like me."

The realization of what I had just said spread over his face. "Do you think that's why we can't sense each other?" he asked.

"Has to be," I said. 

He raked the few strands of loose hair that had fallen around his face back toward his ponytail. "What the hell?" Suddenly, he began to laugh. "What are we?"

Within the span of seconds, I felt more understood by this random, seemingly menacing man than I had by anyone else in my entire life. I couldn't help but laugh with him. "I have no idea."

He looked at me with a handsome smile. "You're laughing," he said. "You're not afraid of me?"

I shook my head and looked up at the starry night sky. "Not anymore." I quickly pointed at him. "But don't prove me wrong!"

"I won't," he said as he nudged me with his shoulder. 

I felt the buzz of energy again and it sent chills down my spine. "I don't think that's static electricity," I said. 

He looked at me. "I don't think so either."

We both sat there in silence. There were frogs singing from the creek behind my house. After a while, he shifted his heels in the gravel. "People are always afraid of me," he said.

I chuckled. "You're kind of a big, scary dude with your black hair and your black car."

He shook his head. "No, I mean like
really
scared around me. I don't have a lot of friends."

"Hmm." I looked over at him. "That's different. People seem to like me for no reason at all. I'm way more popular than I should be."

He smirked. "You're hot and obviously pretty smart. And based on that little jitter dance you did holding my Glock, you're not intimidating
at all
."

I whined and buried my face in my knees. "That's the first time in my life I've ever touched a gun." 

He burst out laughing. "Seriously?" He shook his head. "I'm glad you didn't kill us both then."

"I'm supposed to learn to shoot tomorrow." 

He chuckled a little. "Then I will certainly be on guard the next time we meet."

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"I live in New Hope, NC right now, working as a contractor for Claymore. Before that, I was all over the place with the Marines. Iraq, Kuwait, Afghanistan. I grew up in south Chicago," he said.

"Chicago," I repeated.

"Well, I don't know if I was born in Chicago. I really have no idea where I'm from originally," he added.

I sat up straight. "You're adopted?"

He shook his head. "Orphaned. Grew up in the system."

I blinked my eyes at him. "I'm adopted. I was just a few days old when my mother found me. Maybe we're related!"

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye with a sly smile. "God, I hope not."

I blushed and laughed again. "You're going to feel really sleazy about that if it turns out that you're my brother."

We were quiet again. "What else can you do?" he finally asked.

I thought about where to begin, but before I could answer, an SUV—with blue lights ripping through the dark—screamed around the corner. "Oh no," I said. I jumped to my feet.

Warren didn't move. "You called the cops?" 

I bit my lower lip. "Sort of. I'll handle it." I hesitated for a moment. "You don't need to, like, escape or anything do you?"

He laughed and shook his head. "No."

Nathan's SUV slid to a stop behind my car. I held my hands up as he ripped his driver's side door open. "It's OK!" I shouted. "It's OK. I'm fine!"

He stepped cautiously around his door with his hand on the gun at his side. "Sir, would you mind standing up, please? And keep your hands where I can see them."

Warren obediently stood with his hands raised over his head.

I stepped into his path and tried to block him with my body. "Nathan, you don't have to do this." 

"Get out of my way, Sloan," he said.

I growled and moved out of his way.

"Please turn around," he said to Warren.

When Warren turned, Nathan carefully patted him down. While he searched, he carefully surveyed our surroundings. "Why is there a gun on your trunk, Sloan?" he asked without looking at me.

"I put it there," I said. "Seriously, it's OK."

"It's my gun, Officer—" Warren began, but he was cut off.

"I'm talking to her," Nathan barked. 

I put my hands on his forearms. "Nathan, listen to me. I'm fine. I'm sorry I know I frightened you, but Warren and I have been talking and everything is—"

He cut me off. "Have you not been listening to a damn word I've been saying for the past couple of weeks? Do you want to get yourself killed?" There was genuine panic in his voice. 

I looked around when a light flickered on outside of one of the neighboring houses. "Can we calm down and go inside, please?" I asked. 

His eyes were still wide as he took a step away from Warren. "Do you mind if I see your information, buddy?" he asked.

Warren nodded to me. "She's got my wallet." 

"Oh yeah." I dashed to the rear of my car to retrieve it. "He gave me everything in his pockets, including his gun." Nathan's eyes were dancing with confusion. I handed him the wallet. "Oh, and he wiped blood on my car so there would be DNA evidence if he hurt me."

Nathan blew out an angry huff and turned toward my car, but not before telling Warren not to move. 

I looked back at Warren. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize. You can't be too careful," he said with a smile. "If you are my sister, I would expect no less from you."

Nathan perked up in the driver's seat and looked out at both of us. "Sister?" 

"It's a long story," I said to him. 

He finally stepped out of my car and handed Warren the wallet. "Here you go," he said. "Is that gun loaded?"

"Yes," Warren answered.

"Mind if I
unload
it?" Nathan asked.

Warren shook his head. "Go ahead."

Nathan picked up the gun, removed the magazine, and cleared the chamber. When he was done, he looked at Warren again. "Mind if I hold onto it while I'm here?" he asked.

Warren turned his hands out. "Be my guest."

"Sloan, you wanna move your car to the curb?" Nathan asked.

"Sure," I said. "I'm just gonna pull in my driveway, m'kay?"

"Fine," Nathan answered. 

By the time we got our vehicles out of the road, two different neighbors were on their porches watching the ordeal. I waved to them as the three of us walked up the steps to my front door. "Sorry folks! Everything is OK. Nothing to see here!"

Mrs. Wilson, who lived across from me, was in her nightgown. She shook her head in disgust before disappearing back inside. I groaned and unlocked the door. Warren and Nathan followed me.

When the door was closed, Nathan folded his arms over his chest. "Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"

I urged him toward the living room. "Come on. We're not barbarians. Let's sit down and talk like civilized people," I said.

I sat on the couch, Warren took the loveseat, and Nathan scowled as he sat on the edge of the seat beside me. 

Warren leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm really sorry I scared the shit out of everyone tonight. I couldn't bring myself to leave town without saying something."

"Saying what?" Nathan snapped.

I put my hand on his leg. "Simmer down. We're all friends here."

"No we're not," he said through a clenched jaw.

I realized I hadn't made introductions. "Warren, this is Detective Nathan McNamara. Nathan, you already know Mr. Parish," I said. "I'm sorry, Warren. Nathan and I have been through a lot here recently. We're both a little on edge."

"I told you, you don't have to apologize," Warren said.

"No! You
don't
have to apologize," Nathan barked at both of us. He cut his eyes back at Warren. "Why were you here, waiting in the dark at her doorstep for her to come home alone?" he shouted across the room.

Warren shook his head. "I didn't know that she would be alone," he reasoned. "I tried to be as non-threatening as possible. I stayed outside of my car in the streetlight. I let all the neighbors get a good look at me—"

Nathan cut him off again. "It's bullshit! What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to Sloan," he said.

"Why?"

Warren looked to me for help. I nodded my head. "It's OK. He knows," I assured him. I looked at Nathan and tried to get him to focus on my face. "He's like me."

That seemed to take Nathan back. He swallowed hard. "What do you mean? He's psychic?"

Warren cringed. "I hate that word."

"Me too!" I laughed, completely forgetting the seriousness of the moment.

Nathan wasn't laughing. "I don't like this, Sloan."

I patted his hand. "I know."

"Why are you stalking her?" Nathan asked.

Warren shook his head. "I wasn't trying to stalk her. I was actually trying to figure out how to approach her."