Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle) (5 page)

The rain begins again as I follow Logan up the eastern stairwell of the Sciences building. It turns from a drizzle to a deluge, creating a loud roar all around us. Cold shivers race through my body by the time we reach the third flight of stairs. A giant skylight covers the ceiling above us revealing the darkened sky through the sheet of rain running across the glass.

Thunder sounds in the distance, a low rolling rumble. Logan pauses at the top of the stairs right in front of the door that must lead to the loft area. He grins at me and gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before opening the door and ushering me through.

The room beyond is enormous, a wide open space that covers at least a third of the building. Floor to ceiling windows span the length of the room revealing the fierce flood of rain outside. In a way, the space reminds me of a loft apartment. There’s a small kitchenette in one corner beside a cozy nook featuring a table and six chairs.

Bookcases cover the wall across from the expanse of windows, filled with an amazing array of books—some so old they look like they might crumble if touched by a rough hand. Two sofas and several plush chairs flank the bookshelves creating a pleasant sitting area. Following Logan across the large room, I see our destination before we arrive. On the far end of the room there’s a long conference table surrounded by numerous black leather chairs.

Most of the chairs are filled, some by students I recognize and a few by adults I don’t know. As we approach I count eight students and three adults. My stomach clenches as nervousness sets in. I really have no idea what to expect, but the eleven pairs of eyes staring at me are disconcerting to say the least. When we arrive at the conference area, Logan stops and places his hand on my back in a reassuring gesture. A rather timely move considering I was contemplating my chances of escape. I glance at him, and he flashes a serene smile at me.

“This is Kacie Ramsey,” Logan addresses the group. “She’s here at my invitation as a potential initiate to the Orion Circle.”

An adult stands, I recognize him as the AP physics teacher though I can’t remember his name.

“Welcome, Kacie, I’m Roger Kincaid, the faculty advisor for the Orion Circle,” he says, crossing over to shake my hand. “We have a few tests for you before we vote on whether you shall be admitted into the Circle. Michelle, you can go first.”

One of the students rises from her chair and beckons at me to follow. She leads me away from the conference area to several closed doors I hadn’t noticed before. One has a sign showing a man and a woman, a bathroom, leaving four other doors a mystery. She opens the farthest door and ushers me into a small conference room. I watch her sit at the table, my heart hammering in my chest. My body is frozen by nerves as I stand rigid, my eyes darting around the small room. When she motions for me to join her at the table, I hesitate.

“Logan has told us about you,” she says, folding her hands on the table. “It’s okay. I just want to talk.”

Blowing a breath out in a long sigh, I sit in a chair across the table. Her brown hair is tied in a short ponytail behind her head, though stray hair has fallen out to frame her face in frizzy curls. San Antonio humidity can be murder on hair. My hand passes through my hair, and I cringe when I feel the tight waves.

“Although all Logan really knows is that you’re a clairvoyant of some sort having disturbing visions. And visitations…” She pauses and gazes at me with her chocolate brown eyes as if sizing me up before continuing. “I read people. I have no connection with the dead, only the living. With your permission, I’d like the chance to read your aura and discuss your abilities.”

She pauses again waiting for my response, not looking at me but rather studying her bright red manicured nails.

“I’m not really sure what you intend to do, but I suppose it’s okay,” I say in a hesitant murmur.

She glances up at me with a calm smile on her face before placing her hands palm up on the table.

“Place your hands in mine. I need a physical connection to do a reading.”

There’s no spark like there was with Logan—her hands cool to the touch but nothing more. She closes her eyes and appears deep in thought. Seconds creep by while she sits, eyes closed, unmoving. As more time passes I become anxious, squirming in the plastic chair from both mental and physical distress. I never was good at sitting still for any length of time. When her dark eyes open again, she regards me in silence before releasing my hands.

“Let’s head back to the conference table,” she says, lurching to unsteady feet. “You’ll want to hear about what I sensed.”

As we near the long table, all conversation stops. Michelle takes her prior seat on the far side of the table. When Logan motions for me to sit beside him, I’m grateful. The idea of standing in front of this group is mortifying.

“Your report, Michelle,” Mr. Kincaid prompts.

“Sorry, just organizing my thoughts,” Michelle says, rubbing her chin with her fingers. “Kacie appears to be a very strong psychic medium. I really don’t think any additional testing is necessary. But she dammed up her talent behind a massive wall in her subconscious mind. Her power is so strong it trickles out around the barrier. This is incredibly dangerous since the power that leaks out is uncontrolled. It acts almost like a beacon to the supernatural world. Why did you do that, Kacie?”

All eyes turn to me, and I can’t help but squirm under their stares. This is a difficult subject for me. I always felt responsible for my mother leaving. My powers annoyed and scared her. She hated them and by association hated me. Tears blur my vision, threatening to spill over my eyelashes. Logan places his hand on my arm.

“It’s okay, Kacie,” Logan says, running his hand up and down my forearm. It has the desired effect and I relax under the soothing contact. “You can trust us, I promise. You’ll feel better if you tell us what happened. Believe me, the people at this table will not only listen but understand.”

I watch entranced as his fingers run a light caress up and down my arm. After a few deep breaths, I glance up at him, expecting to see the scorn and disbelief I always saw on my parents’ faces. Logan gazes back, his brow creased in worry—but not about me embarrassing him with what I might say. No, he’s worried about me, about my feelings. With a gentle tug he pulls my arm down over the armrest, lacing our fingers together under the table. I look at our clasped hands then back up at his face. He gives a little nod, urging me to tell my story.

“When I was young, I didn’t know I was different. My parents assumed the people I talked to were imaginary friends. They were busy—no they were oblivious really. I’m sure if they’d paid attention, they would’ve noticed how strange the conversations were.”

I pause when my throat closes up, overcome by the guilt and the heaviness in my chest. Had I known I’d be sitting here telling strangers my darkest secrets, I doubt I would’ve agreed to come to this meeting. Taking a deep breath I continue, clinging to the hope that telling my story will help ease the pain.

“When I was nine my parents decided I was too old for imaginary friends. They sat me down and ordered that I stop talking to people who weren’t there. I tried to explain that the people were real, but my father was furious. He thought I was lying. I started ignoring the spirits. By this time I knew they were ghosts, and I was starting to realize most if not all people didn’t see them.”

The blonde lady seated next to Mr. Kincaid rises and strides over to the small kitchenette. When she returns, she places a bottle of water on the table in front of me.

“Thank you.” I crack open the bottle and take a long drink of the cool liquid, allowing it to soothe both my nerves and my dry throat.

“Take your time, Kacie,” the blonde lady says when she returns to her seat, “I’m Anna Kincaid, and I really do understand what you’ve been through.” She gazes at me through soft blue eyes full of understanding. If only my mother had been so open and eager to listen.

“I continued to ignore the spirits for several months, but they were making it increasingly difficult. It seemed the more I ignored them, the more they craved my attention. We were at the park one day and a particularly pesky spirit wouldn’t leave me alone. I finally gave in and started talking to him to the utter mortification of my parents. I was grounded for two weeks.” I pause again, taking a sip of the water as I try to prepare myself to tell the rest of the story. “A week later I was alone at the kitchen table when the spirit of a woman appeared in the chair across from me. She was an older woman with such a comforting presence. She told me not to worry, that everything would be okay. For some reason I believed her. But she was wrong, very wrong.”

My breath catches. Painful pressure spreads across my chest. A burning sensation in my nose lets me know tears aren’t far behind. The girl seated next to me places her hand on my arm.

“I don’t have any abilities,” she says in a soft voice. “I can only imagine what you’ve been through. But I will say it’s not fair the way some people treat mediums. People are so willing to accept a God they can’t see who can work miracles, but tell them ghosts exist and the shit hits the fan.”

Quiet chuckles and a few snickers draw my gaze to the group. For years I prayed to find someone who understood. Now I have a room full of them. I can do this.

“My mother walked in while I was talking to the spirit. Her eyes grew wide, and it seemed like she could see the spirit too. I felt so betrayed. She yelled at me for lying along with my father. If she could see ghosts then how could she not stand up for me, help my father see that I wasn’t lying, help me understand why I could see them when others couldn’t? How could she not be there for me when I needed her so badly? I asked her if she could see the ghost…”

Closing my eyes, I swallow around the lump in my throat. Something cool touches my hand. When I open my eyes, I see the girl next to me pushing the water bottle into my palm. I drain the remaining contents of the bottle before I’m able to continue.

“My mother backed out of the room and fled upstairs without answering. She packed her bags and left that night, filing for divorce a few weeks later. I haven’t seen her since. She calls once in a while but only talks to my brother. It’s as if I ceased to exist in her mind at all.”

I pause again, blinking my eyes in a failed attempt to keep the tears at bay. Several tears trickle down my cheeks. The room is silent, everyone waiting for me to finish my story, though I have a feeling they already know the outcome.

“Dad blamed me for the divorce. My mother filed for joint custody of my brother, Gavin, but didn’t even want visitation rights with me. One night when Gavin was away, Dad got drunk and finally told me how much he hated me for ruining his marriage. He apologized for weeks afterward, said he didn’t really mean it. But I know somewhere deep down he really did. He did mean it.”

More tears fall and I’m unable to continue the story. Logan squeezes my hand, trying to offer comfort. When I look into his eyes, they contain such sorrow and a flicker of anger. Just knowing he was affected in such a way by my story fills me with warmth. It feels so good to have someone listen and not judge, not immediately call for a straightjacket.

“Your wall is crumbling, Kacie,” Michelle says, her voice ringing in the quiet room. “We can teach you how to control your abilities so they don’t overwhelm you. You need to learn control before the dam bursts.”

“Is that acceptable, Kacie?” Mr. Kincaid asks, “Will you allow us to help you with your abilities?”

“I’m sick and tired of running and hiding from my abilities,” I say, somehow finding a well of courage within my heart. “I’d like to learn how to live with this, maybe even find a way to help people with it.”

“All those in favor of initiating Kacie into the Orion Circle?” Mrs. Kincaid asks the group. ‘Ayes’ resound around the table. “Opposed?” Her question is met with silence. “Welcome to the group, Kacie,” she says with a brilliant smile. “We’ll continue the meeting now and introduce you to everyone later. Rebecca, I believe it’s your turn.”

The brunette girl beside me shuffles through her notes, separating several from the pile and passing them to Mrs. Kincaid. Her brown hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. She pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose before speaking.

“Carl and I performed an investigation last weekend at the new bed and breakfast in the Queen Anne District. The owners were ecstatic to have us visit. They’re currently hyping their inn as one of the most haunted in Texas. We set up the equipment, did EVP sessions in every room and did client interviews. After careful review of the video and EVPs we have absolutely nothing, zip, nada.”

She rises from her chair, placing her palms on the table. A bundle of nervous energy, she makes my pulse leap. After slapping the table she stalks over to the sitting area and grabs a leather messenger bag. The contents spill onto the table, papers flying everywhere.

“The owners had an amazing amount of stories for such a brief ownership of the place. My research indicated they bought the place two years ago and took over a year to renovate. So they’ve only had guests for a few months. These were all written by Mrs. Anders. I haven’t read more than a few. There’s enough here for a series of novels, and they read like a script for a paranormal movie. They refused to provide any past guest info, stating privacy as the excuse. Our take is that it’s a complete sham. Not haunted in any way, shape or form. Before submitting the final report to HQ I’d like a medium to do a walkthrough.”

“This is a good opportunity for you, Kacie,” Mrs. Kincaid says. “Logan, I’d like you to take this assignment along with Kacie. Call and make the arrangements with the owners for one night this weekend. Full written report by next Monday—don’t slough the report off on Kacie. Though I think my concern may be misplaced,” she adds with an innocent look on her face.

“Daniel, your update on the chupacabra,” Mr. Kincaid prompts.

I know Daniel, he’s in drama with me, though I had no idea he was into this kind of thing. Then the words sink in and I let out a small gasp. Chupacabra? Surely this must be a joke!