Eyes to the Soul Page 7

  “Do you know me?” the consultant asked. “From where?” The smile in his voice sent shivers down her back.

  It was stupid, but she felt she’d touched this man before and had been touched by him. Finally, forced by a compulsion she couldn’t understand, she whispered the truth under her breath, “From my dreams. I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

  *

  Stefan stared at her. He didn’t know what to say. Was she serious? She’d spoken in such a soft voice he wondered if she’d realized what she’d said.

  He hadn’t seen her in any of his dreams, but he’d walked in and touched on hers many times. Had she picked up on that? Or was it something else?

  “Pardon?”

  Her gaze widened and she flushed. “Sorry, just muttering to myself.”

  Damn. He didn’t want to pry, but he’d love to know a little more. He could do some investigation on his own later, but it wasn’t the same thing as her admission. He wondered again if she was psychic and if she knew. Many people didn’t know they were. She had a room full of ghosts, but then he suspected she’d had a lifetime full of the same thing. He studied her energy, seeing the embarrassment and discomfort. He wanted to check her energy out deeper, but she had walls up. Serious walls. He could scale them, but not without her permission.

  “Did you find out anything new?” she asked suddenly, motioning behind him.

  “I haven’t looked yet. Brandt is in there first. I thought I’d ask you a few questions, and I do realize that they are likely to be ones you’ve already answered.”

  “Then why ask again?” she said in a reasonable tone.

  And because it was a reasonable tone, he answered honestly. “Because reading a report is not the same thing as getting the information firsthand.”

  She tilted her head, her silvery gray eyes sharpening with intensity. He leaned forward suddenly. There was something in her gaze. Something lively. Could she see? Doubts filled him. Yet if she could, why would she pretend to be blind? It made no sense.

  Then she answered with a light laugh, “That makes sense. Fire away.”

  Shaking his head at his fanciful thoughts, Stefan focused on the issue at hand. He went over the questions he knew she’d already been asked about living alone. That the door had been locked. Did anyone have the keys? Had she woken up in the night? What had alerted her to something being wrong in the bathroom?

  At that last question her energy, which up to then had been comfortable and easygoing, even reserved, suddenly pulled up tight and close. The color shifted to a darker purple and the softness disappeared. He frowned as he watched the hidden walls become instantly visible.

  She had some deep protective instincts. His interest deepened. He knew so much about her – her energy that showed no subterfuge, her innocence in many ways, the charm and beauty of her aura. She was a good soul, and he’d known that for a long time. He couldn’t imagine being attracted to a woman who wasn’t. In the work he did it would be a basic requirement for his survival.

  And he’d been attracted to her for a long time.

  In a soft, distant voice, she said, “The smell of fresh blood.”

  That was the part he didn’t get. He hadn’t gotten any smell from the bathroom. Then again he hadn’t been allowed to get very close yet. A clue, but one he didn’t understand.

  “Have you had reason to have smelled fresh blood like that before?”

  She snorted. “Are you asking if I’ve ever killed anyone?”

  “Not at all,” he said quietly. “I was thinking of a bad accident, a job in the healthcare field, or something similar.”

  Her bristling eased, and she dropped her hand from her chin to stare in his general direction. As always, he found himself studying that gaze. Something about her eyes, her physical blindness, bothered him. He just didn’t know why.

  Her odd silvery eyes were clear and direct. Her eyes didn’t smile, missing the mobility of a person with sight. Something he’d thought he’d seen earlier. Maybe he’d been mistaken.

  He could see so much other energy around her that he knew some of it was her ghostly friends, but not all. There was something dark lurking in there. Held secure by her walls. Secrets? Evil? He wondered if she had any idea they were all there, in her space, all the time. She had to know on a subconscious level, but he wasn’t sure she had any conscious awareness.

  There were also bits and pieces of her friends clinging to her – or ones she clung to. A couple she held tucked in close. From the protective way she was caring for them, he knew that they mattered to her. They were also a huge drain on her energy.

  He’d never seen anything like it.

  There was a tiredness around the corners of her eyes, the droop of her lips, and the slump to her shoulders. Of course waking up to find something nasty in her bathroom had to be one hell of a shock. Add to that not being able to see exactly what was wrong, and anyone’s fears would be sent into hyper drive.

  His gaze whispered over and through her energy again and saw something he hadn’t noticed before. One of the energies that she was keeping close looked familiar. But it was half-hidden. Tucked in tight, he couldn’t get a clear view of the signature because it had almost completely morphed into the other energies. He frowned, not sure what he was seeing.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Sorry? I didn’t say anything,” he murmured.

  “No, but you frowned.”

  He straightened in surprise. “How would you know?”

  “Something shifted in the way you were looking at me.” She smiled. “Then you pulled back. I’m very sensitive to small movements and the energy around me because I can’t see. My other senses go into overdrive.”

  Bemused, Stefan lifted a hand, and even though it was childish he moved his hand gently in front of her. She didn’t move, and her facial expression didn’t change in any way. He lowered his hand.

  “Satisfied?” she asked softly, as if aware of what he’d done.

  His eyebrows shot upward. Then decided to be honest. “Yes.”

  She made a slight movement of her head then turned her gaze to the doorway.

  “Stefan, can you come here please?” Brandt stood at the doorway to the kitchen.

  Stefan stood up. “Sure.” He walked over to Brandt. “My turn?”

  Brandt nodded and led the way to the bathroom.

  Stefan stopped at the doorway and his mind instantly recognized what he was seeing. Dried blood decorated the sink, the floor, and dropped down off the mirror at every letter of the message.

  And he realized something else. Whoever had done this had the same energy signature as the bit of energy that Celina cradled so gently in her aura.

  *

  Talk about fun. He didn’t know how far he could make this go, but then again he’d had no idea that he could have gone this far. Talk about a bonus. He was feeling slightly better today. His training practice was a little stronger.

  It couldn’t last. He knew that. He’d wracked his mind for a way to keep this happening, but at some point in time body parts wore out. He knew the end was coming. He could only hope and pray for more time.

  He really wanted to maximize the damage. And it wasn’t like he could just build a bomb or organize a major terrorist attack. He was limited in so many ways. He could manipulate people into doing stuff his way and doing things he wanted done, but he was still restricted in terms of the skills of the other person. And so far he hadn’t been lucky enough to find anyone with major SEAL training or survivalist skills. Both would be fun. But the very nature of both occupations made it unlikely for them to come into his sphere of influence. At least not through the general way.

  What he needed to do was connect to the weaker parts of himself. Then he could find out how to get rid of them. He had found many of them but had much less control over them.

  What he needed was her.

  Chapter 8

  Stefan walked out of Celina’s apartment building, his mind consumed with th
e 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 wh
ole.”

  “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?”