Eyes to the Soul (11 page)

S
tefan walked out
of Celina’s apartment building, his mind consumed with the implications of what he’d seen.

“Stefan, you’re awfully quiet. What did you find?”

Stefan glanced over at his friend, wondering how much he should disclose.

“Yeah, and no secrets please.” Brandt snorted. “I know there’s lots you can’t tell for sure and that you don’t have a clear picture and that you don’t really understand anything yet, so let’s start with first impressions.”

Stefan laughed. “Nice to work with someone who knows me.”

“Oh, I know you. That’s both a blessing and a challenge.”

Stefan glanced at him sharply. “Are you struggling with me or Sam?”

Brandt gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Both. You are challenging people. And I love you both,” he said calmly, “but you are definitely frustrating at times.”

“You mean all the qualifications with everything I say.”

“Yes. You and Sam both say nothing is clear or straightforward. Everything is ambiguous and couched in warnings. Even after all this time.”

“And that’s because, even after all this time, you want to jump on everything we say as if it’s the complete truth.”

“It usually is.”

“Usually is not the same thing as definitely.”

“How can you deal with definites when you speak in possibilities?” Brandt walked to the truck and clicked the unlock button for Stefan to get in. “I don’t get that.”

“Shall we continue this philosophical discourse on the nature of psychics and their fear of being wrong, or shall we return to the topic at hand?”

“Oh please, let’s get back to business.” Brandt hopped in and started up his truck.

In the passenger seat, Stefan leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Marshalling his thoughts he said, “I found the energy signature from the bathroom to be the same as one of the many energies in Celina’s personal energy space. It’s one she knows and holds dear.”

“Huh. So a friend of hers did this?” Brandt drove onto the main street, away from her building. Shaking his head, he said, “That would explain the access to her apartment. They likely had a key.”

“Possibly.”

“‘Possibly’? What are you not telling me?”

“There could be several other explanations yet. It’s too early.”

Brandt slapped the steering wheel. “See, there you go again. I know it’s too early. I know it’s not clear. But there is something in there besides the little taste you offered. What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” Stefan rolled his head toward his friend in time to see him glare at the inside roof of the truck. “Honest. At this point I can’t say what’s odd here. But there is something.”

Brandt sighed. “Fine. Be that way.”

“Besides,” Stefan straightened, “didn’t you hear her say that both her friends who had keys were either dead or dying?”

*

Before the men
had left they’d told her she could clean up the mess now.

She had taken cleanser and several cloths and starting at the doorways, she’d cleaned everything in her pathway from floor to ceiling and wall to wall – and then had done it all over again.

She hadn’t dared call anyone else in to help her. The shocked questions would kill her to answer, and she needed to know for herself that this was cleaned up.

And that meant she had to do it herself.

Now she was beat. And sore. And scared.

Celina walked slowly back to her bedroom and carefully lay down on the bed.

A huge sigh of relief at being back in bed swept through her, followed by an even heavier, deeper one at finally being alone.

Except you’re never alone. You know that.

I want to be alone though
, she said quietly. Too tired to be angry. The blackness inside her was too big to deal with. Resigned, she thought,
You could leave.

I could. But what could that do? You’d be all alone, and that’s no good.

I just said that’s what I want,
she retorted, temper flaring.
Haven’t you haunted me enough?

There was a pause, and he laughed and laughed.
Oh, that’s rich. You’re worried about me, but you didn’t recognize the consultant that was here this morning was the same guy who sat beside you at the hospital for hours last night.

Her mind danced around putting the pieces together, and now that she knew she easily made the connection. Her eyes flew open. He couldn’t be allowed to know. She tried to cover up her lapse.
Yes, I did. And so what if he was there at the hospital? He’s a police consultant. There were lots of other police there, too. There were a lot of people there from all walks of life. Or maybe he knew someone involved in the accident.

Maybe, and maybe he’s stalking you.
The male laughter had a hard edge to it.
Wouldn’t that be something?

No,
she snapped.
It wouldn’t be.

Thankfully the voice in her head disappeared. Yet the implication he left behind disturbed her.

A thin layer of ice filmed over her skin, and unable to help herself she crawled back under the covers. It wasn’t much comfort given her horrible morning, but she’d take what she could right now.

Alone now, she wanted to let down her guard even just a little bit. But it was hard. She spent so much of her life behind walls, it almost seemed normal. It was difficult to loosen up. But what a stressful way to live.

Some people she couldn’t keep out, and some people she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep in.

She didn’t do well with relationships. College had seen her survive several rather rambunctious ups and downs and several short-term relationships. She hadn’t been so odd then. But she’d been intense. Something guys hadn’t liked. Except in bed.

It wasn’t until her last year in college that she’d met Peter. The relationship had been hard and fast, and they’d been engaged within four months. She’d lost him from a brain aneurysm barely three months later. Devastated at the time, she’d spent months trying to make contact with him in the spirit world. It had seemed like she’d lost everyone important to her. Then she’d been involved in a car accident and lost her sight. Yeah, her life sucked big-time now.

She preferred to make good friends instead of trying out different lovers. And the man in her dreams – what had possessed her to whisper that in his presence? What a fool. And where had that even come from?

She was a little put out that she hadn’t recognized that voice last night. Had he spoken to her? She couldn’t remember. Surely she’d have recognized him even if he hadn’t. Then again, why would she? She’d been a mess. A walled-up, isolated island of pain. Of course she hadn’t wanted to talk to a stranger.

Yet this stranger was so familiar – like the many times she’d woken up from vivid dreams, as if she’d met someone special. But in the morning there’d only been a sensation, not a memory or a vision to hold onto.

So either her tormentor was wrong – and wouldn’t that be nice – or something was different about the man this morning. Or about her, she admitted. And that was more likely. Last night she’d been in physical pain and emotional torment. She’d just been through a horrific accident and had lost several friends. She’d been focused on sending positive, loving energy to her injured friends, not the cool stranger at her side. There’d been many strangers in that room last night. He’d been just one more.

This morning the circumstances had highlighted his presence and that voice had slipped into her consciousness, grabbed her by the throat, and made sure she paid attention.

She smiled wryly. “Great,” she said out loud. “Now he’s got my attention. So what? Last thing he’d want would be a neurotic blind woman in his life.”

“You don’t know that,” Mimi said softly. “You’re always knocking yourself down. You’ve got to stop doing that. There are a lot of good men out there that wouldn’t mind your physical condition in the least.”

She smiled at Mimi. Ghosts came and went, usually unannounced. “No, they’d accept it, but they’d prefer a woman who was whole.”

“Is there such a person? Everyone has scars, injuries, defects. Just some are more visible.”

“Is that what my blindness is, a defect? In a way I guess it is.”

“No, it isn’t,” Mimi said stoutly, “but that’s how
you
see it.”

“Did you see who wrote that message on my mirror?”

“What message?” Mimi asked.

Celina sighed. Of course she hadn’t. That would be too easy.

“Damn. I hate days like this. I need to go and do something.” Celina smiled. “I’ll go to the hospital and visit Jacob and the others, then maybe go to an art museum, walk through the gallery, and soak up the ambiance. I miss that place. I might not be able to see, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy being there.” In fact, being at the gallery helped her find peace inside. Gave her hope. She used to go all the time; now she went when she could sneak away.

“Yes, do that. Get out and have fun.”

She called the hospital, but that had only added to her depression. Jacob wasn’t doing as well as they’d hoped. He was still in the ICU and wasn’t allowed visitors. Feeling tired, sad and vulnerable, she had Porter, her doorman, call her a cab to the museum.

Walking up the stairs to the large, imposing entranceway she allowed her memories to fill in the missing elements that she could no longer see. This had been one of her favorite haunts, and one of her greatest sorrows was that she could no longer see the beautiful exhibits.

“The same bench, Miss Wilton?” asked the guide standing just inside the front door. “It’s a quiet day today. Would you like me to show you to one of the new chairs we have placed around the rooms?”

She smiled. “If it’s new you’d better show it to me before I find it the hard way. If there is one close to the new exhibit that would be lovely.”

“There is. The artist is new to the West Coast but is fast making a name for himself here.”

“Lovely – what does he paint?”

“His wife.”

*

Jacob sat up
and stretched. Damn, he felt good. He threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. He stood tall and arched his back, shifting and rolling his shoulders. What a great night’s sleep. He was grateful those bizarre nightmares seemed to have finally stopped. It had to have been caused by the drugs. Nasty things. Although they beat living with that horrific pain. He knew he’d been in an accident of some kind and vaguely remembered going to the bar with Celina, so he could only presume they’d been hit on the road. At least he felt decent now.

Raring to go, in fact. That weird brain fog was gone, and the air around him looked normal. For a long time he’d wondered if he’d ever be able to get out of that ghastly drugged state. If that’s what being in a coma felt like, his sympathies went to those currently in that situation. What a horrible way to live.

Just then a nurse walked into the room. There were four other beds in the room. He couldn’t see most of the other occupants because of the curtains surrounding them. Several curtains were open, but he didn’t want to pry by walking around and checking to see if he was alone. Most likely the room was full.

He smiled as a nurse entered and went to the first bed.

Maybe the doctor would be in soon and he could get out of this place.

The nurse walked to the second bed and he waited. When she left that bed and came toward him he grinned and said, “Good morning. I feel great today. When is the doctor available? I’d really like to go home.”

She had a tablet of some kind in her hand. He waited, wishing the nursing staff could actually dredge up a personality. It was one of the reasons he hated being in here. They were either cranky or run off their feet or super talkative, and you learned way too much about their boyfriend’s ex. He sighed and shifted. Her face twisted as she clicked through the screens.

Uh oh.

He couldn’t help it. He sidled closer and tried to peer into her screen. The angle was just that little bit off so he couldn’t read the text. It was his file though. Nice to see the medical system moving forward with technology. He glanced up at her face. “So what’s the verdict? Will I live?” he joked.