(Psychic Visions 01) Tuesday's Child (7 page)

5:19 pm

Brandt grinned at his mother's antics. He'd stopped in at her self-contained unit in the seniors' complex, for coffee and to apologize for canceling out on lunch tomorrow. It didn't take more than a few minutes to realize that some things never change.

A beautiful young woman, Lisa, knocked on the door not five minutes after he arrived. Maisy wasted no time inviting her in to meet Brandt.

An obvious setup, yet no different from what his mother put him through on a regular basis in her quest to see him married. Not that old age had crept into her bones, nor had her health deteriorated. Still, she sought grandkids in the worst way. And she had no compunction about using underhanded methods in achieving these goals.

Studying Lisa more closely, he could see the classical beauty his mother would think appropriate. Baby blue eyes with a guileless innocence, long straight blond hair and a slim, but curvy shape. And none of it mattered to him.

All he could see were Sam's haunting eyes. He had no idea if Sam's body curved or bumped. He knew she had a slight build and that she didn't eat enough. With her oversized sweater on, not much else showed. He didn't quite know how he felt about this interest, but was willing to see where it went.

He understood that his 'type' was fluid and fluctuated on impulse. He considered that normal. That didn't mean he chose to go out with all of the women who appeared on his radar.

"Brandt.
Brandt
?"

Brandt focused on his mother and smiled sheepishly. Her knowing smirk immediately put him on his guard. With a sinking feeling, he realized he'd been staring at Lisa too long. He groaned softly. Maisy's smirk widened.

"Now Brandt, I know she's adorable. Do try to concentrate, dear."

He rolled his eyes and stood up. "I'm sorry, ladies. You'll have to excuse me. It's time for me to head out."

"Oh, no," Maisy cried out. "You never stay for a real visit. Won't you stay for dinner at least?"

Trust her to ignore the fact that he'd been here for dinner just a couple days ago. Today, he'd come straight from Samantha's hideaway, needing a touch of normalcy after seeing her. Only to realize that he preferred Sam to the Lisas of the world. How contrary could he be?

He excused himself from dinner and said his good-byes. The sky had clouded over giving an unusual darkness to the horizon. Once in his truck, his mind immediately returned to the tiny woman with a huge impact. Sam and that overgrown mutt, Moses, had chosen a singular existence out in the middle of nowhere. The dog had been protective when Brandt first arrived. After a once-over he'd gone and lain down. A guard dog would never have done that.

Pulling off to the side of the road, he called into the office for updates. Then he tried calling Stefan, his difficult, contrary, and incredibly gifted psychic friend. And left another message.

Given the lateness of the hour, he decided to go home and mull over the contrariness of human attraction.

11:05 pm

L
ying in bed that night, Sam couldn't sleep. Her overwrought mind refused to let up. The tantalizing possibility that she was meant to do something with this gift worried at the frayed edges of her mind. Depressed and unsettled, she fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams dark and disjointed pieces of past visions.

Screams jarred her from a deep sleep. Confusion turned to fear when Sam realized the horrific sounds were coming from her own mouth. Even worse, she had no idea where she was.

Terror overwhelmed her. Her fingers spasmed in a death grip around a strange steering wheel as the car she drove careened further out of control. Still trying to toss off the remnants of sleep, Sam yanked hard on the wheel in a futile attempt to turn it. The mid-sized car plowed through a steel barricade to hang suspended in midair before plummeting to the rocks below. Screams ripped from her throat and she reefed again on the useless steering wheel, helpless to stop the deadly impact. Her foot pounded on worthless brakes. The front grill of the car crumpled and metal buckled upward. The car slammed into the first of the rocks below, snapping her forward into the windshield.

Agonizing pain radiated off her shattered spine. Grinding metal, exploding glass, and continuous crunching sounds filled the air as first the bumper flew off, then the rear window shattered outward. The car tumbled, smashed on a huge rock, careened to the left and flipped end over end before coming to a hard landing on its wheels, right side up at the bottom of the cliff.

Then utter silence.

Sam trembled. Shock and pain pulsed through her veins even as her blood dripped out one beat at a time onto the shredded seat beside her. God, she didn't want to die.

She wanted to live. Please, dear God.

Someone help!

Blood streamed over her face, her spine...where a shearing heat set off continuous stabbing pain. The steering wheel jammed into her ribs. The front dash had crumpled into a mess of twisted steel and plastic. The famous Mercedes emblem now hung drunk in midair over the remains of the once beautiful cream leather seats.

Sam couldn't feel her right arm. And wished she couldn't feel her left. She closed her eyes, willing away the image of bone shards that had sliced through her sweater, a few loose strands of wool clinging to the ends. Heart wrenching sobs poured from her throat, tears coated her cheeks. She was alone. And dying.

A brilliant flash of light engulfed the car as the fuel from the pierced gas line flashed into flames. Heat seared her lungs and scorched her hair, the strands melting against the inside of her car window. Panicked, she screamed as flames licked at her feet, burning, and cooking the flesh right off her bones.

Agony. Pain. Terror.

A voice whispered through the blackness of her mind, so odd, so different it caught her attention. She strained to hear the words.

"Let go. It's time to let go."

Sam stared through the flames, stunned.
Let go of what?
She couldn't hear over the roaring fire and could barely see, but knowing that someone was there stirred her survival instinct and she started fighting against the seatbelt jammed at her side. She was saved. Just another minute and they'd open the door to pull her free. She'd be fine.

"Please hurry," she cried out.

"Let go. You don't need to be in there. Let it all go, and come with me."

She peered through the golden orange windshield to see a strange male face peering at her through the flames.

He smiled.

"Come with me."

"I want to, damn it. Can't you see I'm trapped?" she screamed, her vocals crisping in the heat.

"Release yourself. Come with me. Say yes."

The pain hit a crescendo. She twisted against it, hearing her spine splinter. The car seat melted into her skin. So much pain, she couldn't breathe. Blackness crowded into her mind, blessed quiet, soothing darkness. She reached for it.

"Let go. You don't need to go through this. Hurry."

She started. Why wasn't he opening the door or getting others to help? He should be trying to save her. Shouldn't he? Sam, so confused and so tired she could barely feel the pain overtaking her body. Where had he gone? She tried to concentrate. His face was now only a vague outline that rippled with the heat waves. A soft smile played at the corner of his mouth. The flames burned around him, weird as they centered him in the warm glow. She wanted to be with him. To live.

"Here, take my hand."

Dazed and on the brink of death, Sam focused on the hand reaching for her. She struggled to raise the charred piece of flesh that had been her arm and reached out to grasp his.

She was free.

Overwhelmed, cries of relief escaped. She turned to hug her savior, her head just reaching his shoulder. He stood beside her, the same radiant beaming look on his face. His blond hair glowed, and he had the brightest teeth.

She sighed. This beautiful man pointed to her right arm. Confused, Sam glanced down at her burned arm, realizing she could feel none of her injuries. Just like her other one, her broken arm had miraculously healed – whole, smooth, and soft. Her skin hadn't looked this good in ten years.

Realization hit.

She spun around to find a massive fireball below. What the hell? She had to be dead. But instead of the horror or shock, she expected to feel, she felt good. In fact, she felt great. She turned to the ever-smiling stranger.

"Let's go, sweetheart."

Sam didn't know why he'd called her that, but she bloomed under his loving gaze. Honestly, she was so damned grateful to be out of the car, she let him get away with it.

Holding hands, they floated higher into the cloudless blue sky. Then when the crash site below had become a tiny speck, Sam felt a hard flick on her arm and the words, "Thanks. I can take it from here."

And she woke up.

6:05 am, June 16
^th

Stunned and disoriented, Sam lay rigid in bed. The sense of loss overwhelmed her.
He
was gone. She needed his gentle warmth. He made her feel loved and cared for. Bereft, hot tears welled at the corners of her eyes. She didn't want to be back here in her own body. She wanted to be that other woman. That lucky woman.

Sam stopped in shock. That woman was dead! How lucky could that woman be? She'd be fine now, happy and at peace...with that man at her side. Lucky to be so loved.

And who the hell was he?

Sam couldn't believe her vision. Even now, instead of being overwhelmed with shock and pain, she felt uplifted.

Mystified, she questioned the difference this time. Not the death itself, that part unfortunately, had been normal, right down to the excruciating pain. But afterwards...? She didn't know who the man had been or what he might have been to the victim, but he'd cared about her. She wished she'd had her wits about her to talk to him at the time. Now it was too late.

There'd been one other major difference in this vision.

Always before, Sam had been forced to endure the horror of what one human being could inflict on another. This had been her first accident. Or was it?

What's the chance someone killed the woman to make it appear like an accident?

Sam narrowed her eyes, thinking. Given her relationship to violence – and there's no doubt the woman had died a violent death, had foul play been involved? Sam replayed the video locked into her psyche. The brakes hadn't responded, neither had her steering wheel – then they weren't built for flying. Suspicion remained. Intuitively, she felt more was involved. But could she prove it? No. She did know the woman had not been sleeping at the wheel or drunk. Living her last moments had given Sam clarity into the woman's mental state. There hadn't been any drugged or hallucination type of sensation.

Her car had to have been sabotaged. Sam snorted and threw back the blankets. So what? Just because she 'thought' foul play had been involved didn't mean it had been. Or that she could convince the police of it.

Grabbing up her journal, she wrote down as many details from this vision as she could. A process she went through every time. The impressions about the man were so clear, so poignant she had to write them down. Finally, she was done. Closing the book, she put it beside her bed, ready for the next time. She stared at it for a long moment. If anyone found her journals...she glanced over at the box beside her suitcase...they'd be used as evidence against her.

She had to question what her role was this time. She hadn't been able to help the poor woman. If she had a 'gift' then she wanted – no
needed
– to use it to make a difference. And had yet to do so. The idea, the concept...to help the victim find justice tantalized her. And then again, attempting to help these women meant working with the police. Bile immediately bubbled up in her stomach.

Sam leaned over, reaching for clean jeans and a t-shirt – dressing while deep in thought. Making a quick decision, she reached for the card and punched the number on her cell phone before she had a chance to change her mind.

"Hello?"

Fear caught her sideways. Words refused to come out.

"Hello. Who is this?"

The sharp demanding tone made her wince. She glanced at the clock on the stove and grimaced. He'd been asleep.

"God damn it, answer me." Anger reached through the phone to squeeze her vocal cords.

Samantha rushed into speech. "It's me. Huh, hmmm, Samantha Blair."

"Samantha," he said, enunciating the words slow and clear as if trying to place her.

"You came out to my place at the lake to ask me some questions yesterday," Sam started to explain.

"Oh. That Samantha." The anger shifted down to a growl.

She could almost see him shift into gear.