Vengeance Borne (12 page)

Through the slat in the blinds, he watched Jacquelyn jump out of the truck—she was so short, it was quite a drop—and walk with purpose toward his door. The serious expression on her face had him on edge and the hairs on his arms prickled. She was pissed.

“Micah, are you here?” She rapped on the sturdy fiberglass door. “I need to talk to you.”

Micah fixed a pleasant expression on his face, unwilling to openly show the worry slowly creeping up his spine. The door stuck when he tried to push it open and, only after a hefty shove, did it swing outward, bouncing off the exterior wall.

“I must not be parked completely level,” he said with a laugh. “How did you find me?”

“Please.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Your energy signature is so intense, I could find you from miles away. Plus, this is a small town, Micah. Not very many places to look.” The smile that threatened fled like sunlight hidden by clouds and Jacquelyn huffed out an exasperated breath. “I should be trying to ease you into this, but I just don’t have time. You need to come with me. Now.”

Micah sat in the backseat feeling a little like a kidnapping victim. Jacquelyn hadn’t given him much choice in the matter. For as small as she was, that woman was
strong
. She couldn’t have been much over five foot three, and if she weighed more than a hundred and ten pounds, he’d be shocked. And yet, she dragged his six foot five, two hundred and twenty pound frame out of the RV and toward the waiting truck as though he was an uncooperative toddler.

He had no idea where they were taking him, and introductions had been short. Somewhere along the lines of, “Micah, Trish. Trish, Micah. Now let’s go.” As he listened to the older woman ramble on in a no-nonsense way, he wondered when he’d get the opportunity to get a word in. But Trish’s authoritative tone didn’t give the impression that she was open to questions or comments at the present time.

“A Bearer is an empath, more or less. Bearers possess the ability to not only feel the emotions of those around them, but he can take those emotions and draw them into himself…”

“Or herself,” Jacquelyn interjected.

“Or herself.”

This woman, Trish, reminded him of his mom in a way. Bossy. Confident. One hundred percent in charge. Her smooth, melodic voice invited him to trust every word coming out of her mouth. Inviting trust and gaining it were two different things, though. Micah didn’t trust easily, but for some reason, he wanted to trust this Trish. He couldn’t shake a sense of rightness. Maybe it was the connection he made the first time he touched Jacquelyn, or maybe it was the kinship he felt with Trish, though barely a handful of words had passed between them. Whatever it was, Micah didn’t think he could leave this town until he understood.

As she continued on, rattling off facts about empaths, healers, and bunch of crazy shit that should make absolutely no sense to a sane person, Micah tried to pay attention. He wanted to absorb the facts as she laid them out for him. The rhythmic sound of her voice became nothing but white noise in the background of his thoughts however, as he focused his mind—and emotions—on Jacquelyn.

She shifted in her seat. Nervous fingers teased stray curls that had fallen out of her ponytail and lingered on her neck. She shifted again.

“Stop it,” she said without looking at him.

Trish halted mid-monologue, looking at Jacquelyn before glancing over her shoulder.

“Stop what?” Micah asked.

“Thinking about me. I’m about to jump out of my freaking skin. Just knock it off.”

How in the hell had she known he was thinking about her? Micah fought a smile. Her angry frustration almost turned him on. Which was totally sick because he shouldn’t be so amused. “What makes you think I’m thinking about you?” A rush of emotion flooded his chest. Not anger, not annoyance.
Excitement
. This time he did smile. But the sensation faded faster than he wanted it to, and he sensed that she’d erected some sort of invisible barrier between them.

“I can feel it. All of your energy is focused right at me like tunnel vision or something.” Jacquelyn shivered involuntarily. “It feels like insects running up my spine.”

“Did you know,” Trish interrupted, “that the name Micah means ‘bringer of prophecies’?”

Another surge of emotion funneled into his chest, this time from the old woman. Her power spoke to him, pulled his attention away from Jacquelyn, almost commanding him to leave the younger woman be. Turning his head toward the driver’s seat, his eyes were last to follow, lingering on Jacquelyn’s profile for a moment before fixing his full attention back on Trish. Who in the hell were these people? And what had he gotten himself into by not driving right through town toward Wyoming.

“Now, what was I talking about?” Trish asked no one in particular. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’re here.”

Micah looked out the window at the wooded landscape. Tall trees shaded the afternoon sun, casting cool autumn shadows on the yellowing grass. A patch of ground soiled with a dark, inky substance had drawn a swarm of flies. Anxiety rippled across his skin. Great. She’d driven them out into the middle of nowhere. Wasn’t this how most slasher movies started? The thought didn’t do much to put him at ease. In the rearview mirror, his eyes met Trish’s and she smirked. Creepy. As if she wasn’t odd enough, her knowing expression threw up a serious red flag. Oh yeah, he was as good as fileted.

He questioned his sanity once again at the decision to just hop into a truck with people he barely knew, only to be dumped off so far from civilization that no one would hear him scream.

“You have nothing to be anxious about, Micah.” Trish hopped out of the truck with an agility that belied her age. “You’re among friends.”

Jacquelyn snorted as she climbed out of her seat.
So
reassuring. “We need you to tell us what happened here, Micah,” she explained. “So get out and let’s put that emotional sniffer of yours to work.”

“How in the hell am I supposed to know what happened?” He took the safer route, avoiding Jacquelyn and exited on Trish’s side of the truck. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Another gust of frustration hit Micah like a strong wind and he drew in a sharp breath. A low, barely audible sigh escaped Jacquelyn’s throat. Her pale green eyes were apologetic, yet her expression was determined when she said, “This is serious, Micah. I know I’m throwing you under the bus here, but I need you get with the program—like now.”

“Oh, Jacquelyn, for the love of God, give the poor boy a break!” Trish’s exasperated voice seemed to amplify, echoing off the trees. “Go walk off that sassy attitude of yours. Leave me with him for a moment.”

Though he couldn’t hear the words grumbled under Jacquelyn’s breath, he felt the force behind them as she tromped through the brush and out of sight. With her absence, a weight seemed to lift from around him. As if he’d been covered up with too many blankets, and only now managed to kick them off. Finally, he could take a deep breath.

“She certainly has a presence, doesn’t she?” Trish remarked.

Micah hadn’t realized the old woman had come to stand by him. “That’s an understatement.” He massaged his temples. Prickling pain throbbed behind his eyes. He wished he had an Ativan. Or maybe a Xanax. Or both.

“You don’t need them, Micah,” Trish said.

“What?”

“Whatever it is you’re poisoning your body with.”

Micah stared wide-eyed at Trish. How could she have known?

“I know a lot of things. Least of all the pain you’re in.” She wound her soft, weathered hand around his. “The less you fight it, the better off you’ll be. Come over here and let me show you.”

Trish’s grip on his hand tightened and warmth radiated from her palm. Micah didn’t argue, didn’t speak. He simply let her guide him to the inky spot in the field. Without warning, Trish dropped to her knees in the crisp autumn grass, tugging Micah’s arm as she went. But he didn’t follow her to the ground. He didn’t think he could. Suddenly repulsed, an unseen force urged him back, just as he was struck with a strong surge of rage. He pulled free of her grasp and staggered backward, desperately filling his aching lungs with air.

“What is that?” he choked. “I can’t breathe.” Micah blinked several times to clear the cloud of anger from his vision. “My—head. I—can’t…” His stilted words stilled in his throat. The taste of bitter chocolate burned on the back of his tongue and his stomach heaved. Panic raced through his bloodstream. He couldn’t draw a deep breath…

“Micah,” Trish’s calm voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. “You’re all right. Relax.”

The command was strong in his mind, overriding the rage, the panic. As if the troubling emotions had been sucked down a drain, his body responded and he could finally fill his lungs with enough oxygen to steady his quaking limbs.

“How did you do that?” Jesus, she was like the Merlin of small town grandmas.

Trish smiled and gave a little chuckle. “You can do it too, Micah. But let’s worry about that later. Come down here. Kneel with me for a moment.”

“I don’t know if I can.” His thoughts drifted to Jacquelyn. Where had she gone? It didn’t feel safe here, she shouldn’t have wandered off. The tainted grass repulsed him and he pulled against Trish’s grasp. He needed to find Jacquelyn and leave.

“She’s fine,” Trish replied as if she’d heard his thoughts. “Don’t worry about her right now. Jacquelyn can take care of herself.”

“How do you do that?” Micah asked. “Did you read my mind?”

Trish laughed. The raspy sound reminded him of crinkling tissue paper. “I
do not
read minds. I read feelings. Yours are strong.”

“Is that what you think I can do? Read feelings?”

Trish tugged at his hand and despite the strong urge to pull back, he kneeled at her side. Bits of twigs and rocks dug into his knees through his jeans. The dried grass broke off under his weight, poking into his palm as he steadied himself. He turned toward Trish. “What do you want me to do?”

Trish released his hand and patted his back reassuringly. “It’s easy, really. A man died here last night, Micah, and I want to know what killed him. The Bearer who came earlier didn’t sense anything unusual, and the police suspect an animal attack. But I think there’s more to it than meets the eye. That’s why you’re here.”

Micah took a deep breath. Everything he’d been running from had finally caught up to him, hadn’t it? He was fairly certain that karma was having a good laugh at his expense right about now. “How do I do it?”

Trish guided his hand toward the dark sludge covering the ground, but he resisted. Evil. Whatever this…substance was, it reeked of pain, torture, and darkness. Could it be blood? It was so dark, the crimson almost black.

“It can’t hurt you, Micah,” Trish reassured him. “Whatever you feel now will merely be an illusion. The moment has passed and its evil can’t touch you.”

Micah reached down and ran a finger through the viscous goo. Wiping his thumb across his fingers, he left a dark crimson smear to confirm his fears. Blood.

Darkness clouded his vision. It closed in on him, stealing his breath and robbing him of his senses. Stumbling backward, he landed on his back, his head thumped against something hard, and a burst of sparkling light broke through the black mantle of his mind.

Arching his back against sudden, searing pain, Micah clenched his teeth together to keep from crying out. His chest ached with a flood of rage so violent he felt as though his body were being ripped apart. In his mind’s eye, three shrouded figures ghosted toward him, their spindly arms reaching out, their pasty white, greedy hands beckoning. Rage transformed to fear as they approached, and Micah realized that he had taken the place of the victim, living a dead man’s memory.

“Please,” he gasped in a voice not his own, “I have a heart condition. I have a family. What do you want?”

“We want your blood,” three voices said as one. “We want your flesh. A pound, to be exact.”

“A—a pound?” Micah stammered in the man’s memory. “I don’t understand… I’m drunk. That’s it! I—I’m drunk! You’re not real.”

He clutched at his chest. A piercing pain ripped through the upper left side. His arm felt numb, dead beside him. “Leave me alone, demons!” He grunted through the pain.

The three figures converged, and the pain in his chest was nothing in comparison to what they doled out. Sharp teeth and claws ripped through his skin. He’d become paralyzed by fear and pain. But just when he thought he couldn’t take another second of agony, the sensation fled. Replaced by lust, elation, and a perverse satisfaction, he’d left the dead man’s memories behind. Could it be that he was now, in the mind of a killer?

“Micah!” Trish’s voice broke through the haze of emotions swirling through his body. “Micah, it’s not real. Come back.”

As if being propelled through a dark tunnel to the light above, Micah was rocketed from the memory of what happened on this patch of grass and spit back out into the present. “That was no fucking animal.” He spat in an effort to rid the coppery tang from his mouth. “Jesus, what in the hell were they?”

Trish helped him to his knees, surprisingly strong for her apparent age, and laid a comforting hand on his back, making small massaging circles with her palm. With her other hand, she gripped his shoulder, anchoring him as she kept him from falling back on the ground.
Damned strong for an old woman
. Warmth spread from the contact, calming him and bringing him back to the present.