Chapter Seven
It’s dark by the time I pull into my driveway.
I shut off the engine, lean back in the seat, and close my eyes, replaying the events of the afternoon.
Mark Healy’s house had been wired top to bottom; at least two exterior cameras under the eaves, two more inside the living room blinking faintly, red eyes watching every inch.
That alone put him on my radar. What secrets was he protecting?
And what really sparked my curiosity was the way his fingers fidgeted when I mentioned the theft; in particular, his over-rehearsed casualness when he said, “They haven’t filled me in much. ”
His house had been obsessively wired with smart lights and silent alarms. The kind of setup you can rig when you’re an expert in security systems, and likely know how to bypass them, too.
But it was what I saw when I left his place that had fired up my imagination. Heck, I’d been stewing on it for the entire drive home.
Across the street, his neighbor’s garage door had been wide open, bikes hanging from ceiling hooks.
A cluttered toolbench under a bare bulb sat near a door likely connecting to the main house.
An old treadmill gathered dust in the far corner of the garage.
I made sure to commit every detail to memory, filing it away like a mental snapshot.
Because later tonight, I’d be back. Yeah, a not-so-legal plan was brewing.
Meanwhile, I’ve got a Big Mac in one hand and a medium Coke in the other. I’m slurping and eating when my phone buzzes with a notification. A text message from Sherbet:
Got something here. Need your brain. And maybe some of those freaky vampire gifts of yours.
I smile. I love when my detective friend straight-up asks for help with no pretense, embracing the weird.
Which of my freaky vampire gifts? I write back.
You know, your main gift.
Sexiness?
Grrr.
Are you at the station?
Yes.
Meet you outside the women’s bathroom stall in 30 seconds.
I finish the last bite, slurp down some soda, and summon the single flame, visualizing the bathroom I have come to know.
I confirm the first stall is empty and make the jump.
Once inside, I flush to keep appearances and emerge to an empty bathroom.
Ah, success. I straighten my tee-shirt and fluff my hair, then step into the busy hallway, where Sherbet’s already waiting with two coffees in hand.
I take the one with extra cream and sugar. “You trying to bribe me?”
He shrugs. “You’re easier to work with when you’re sugared up. Plus, isn’t working part of your job description?”
“I’m a consultant. Working here is optional. But I do like to sometimes feel like I belong somewhere.”
We walk through the crowded station, past officers glued to computer screens and a detective yelling into a phone. Just another Tuesday at the Fullerton station.
“So what’s the case?” I ask.
“Accessory to murder. Maybe murder, but I don’t think so,” Sherbet says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Out with it, Detective.”
“We think the guy is taking the fall for a murder he didn’t commit.”
“Wow, good friend.”
“We’ll see.”
We step into the observation room. A young man in his early twenties—skinny, jittery—sits on the other side of the glass. Hood up. Arms crossed. Bouncing one knee like he’s got a metronome for a heart.
“He looks like he’d confess to being the lizard king if you asked nicely,” I say.
“That’s the problem. He’s already confessed.”
My eyes narrow. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
Sherbet nods. “His DNA wasn’t at the scene. Not a trace. Meanwhile, we found prints and hair from a different guy, a known meth-head who used to do yard work for the victim. We think our guy here is taking the fall.”
I peer through the glass. “What’s his name?”
“Jamie Rodriguez. Community college student. No priors. Works part-time at GameStop. No priors.”
“And why would Jamie confess to a murder he didn’t commit?”
Sherbet shrugs. “That’s why you’re here. My charm has only gotten me so far.”
“Okay, let me get a read on him.”
Sherbet waves to the officer on guard duty. The guy nods and opens the door for me. I step in, shut it behind me.
Jamie looks up sharply, briefly startled. Then scrunches his eyebrows, confused. “You’re not a cop.”
“Nope,” I say, pulling a metal chair out from the table and dropping into it. As I sit, I’ve already plumbed his mind and his memory, and I know exactly what’s going on here. “I’m the weird psychic cousin who smells lies like a bloodhound.”
He blinks. “Say what now?”
“I’m here to help with the case. Either help you or ruin you, depending on how the next few minutes go.”
He frowns. “I already told them everything I know.”
“No, you told them what someone wanted you to tell them. I need you to listen to me very carefully, Jamie. You didn’t kill that woman. I know it, you know it, so the question is: who are you covering for?”
And if I dig a little deeper in his mind, behind all the memories and the made-up stories and conversations that never happened, I’ll find out soon enough.
His lip twitches. His aura shifts, quivers. Beneath the surface, there’s a scream. A mental scream. He’s terrified. Oh, snap. He’s been cursed. That’s why the name isn’t coming to me. It’s being blocked, hidden from even him.
“I can’t,” he whispers. “He’ll kill her.”
“Kill who?” I press, giving him a gentle command to fight through the curse.
Jamie runs his fingers through his hair, pulls at it, rocks in his chair, face grimacing, contorting.
Go on, I encourage him. You can do it. I’ll protect you.
“My... mom.”
“Who’s threatening her?”
His jawline ripples. He shakes his head.
Tell me, I command.
“Her... her boyfriend,” he finally says, the words clawing their way out of his mouth as if from a deep chasm. “His name is... Trent.”
As he says the name, his brain flashes with images: A big guy yelling, breaking things, dragging a woman by the hair, caveman-style.
“Travis made you confess to murder?”
Jamie nods. “Said if I didn’t, he’d… my mom was next.”
“What happened?”
“He killed Kayla, my roommate. Raped her and strangled her, all while I was out having lunch with my mom. I came back to him sitting in my apartment.”
I nod. With the memory of it fresh in his mind, I can see it right there.
No need to go digging for it. I review it, shaking my head as I do.
A cute gal lies crumpled, used, and discarded, like her life never meant a thing.
Travis is sitting on the couch, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, smoking a joint, and looking pleased with himself.
I hear Jamie hyperventilating in his own memory.
He yells, “What have you done?” and Travis only grins more.
.. and pulls out a pistol that had been tucked in the cushion next to him.
I hear the threat to Jamie’s mother. He even threatened Jamie.
Travis then tells Jamie what he’s going to do, and what he’s going to say.
Travis isn’t a magician or a dark master, but his voice has command, and his eyes are hypnotic.
This guy isn’t an energy vampire but damn close to one, able to control his fellow humans.
Probably realized he could do something like this at a young age, and has been using people ever since.
My stomach turns. “So, you walked in here with a rehearsed script?”
“Yeah. He told me what to say. Told me not to tell another living soul, that he would know and kill my mom. I’m scared for her now. What have I done?” He pulls at his hair again and begins rocking.
I reach out and calm him down, letting his subconscious mind know that his mother would be safe.
This does the trick, and he folds his arms and sits back.
Whether or not Travis would know that Jamie just admitted the truth, I didn’t know.
Even I don’t have control or access to someone’s thoughts from a long distance.
Either way, his mother might be in legit danger.
“What do I do?” he asks me.
“Tell the truth. And I’ll make sure he never touches you or your mom again.”
Jamie blinks at me like I’m a miracle he didn’t expect. “But how?”
I let him know that I’m the next best thing to a superhero. I make sure he believes it, too.
“Do you promise?” he asks.
“Pinkie promise,” I say, and hold out my pale pinkie. He eagerly wraps his own around mine.
With the deal sealed, I step back out of the room. Sherbet’s already on his phone, probably ordering a search warrant for Travis. I fill him in on the rest.
“Kid’s a shield,” I say. “Abused, scared, and noble. He needs protection.”
“I’ll get him transferred to a safe holding facility,” Sherbet says. “And we’ll drag this Trent guy in. Maybe with a little help from you, we can get a confession.”
“Depends,” I say.
“On what?”
“If he’s controlled by a demon or not. He’s got mind control abilities.”
“A dark master?”
“Whoa. Did you just say that?”
“I did, and I’m not proud of it. Guess I’ve been hanging around you a little too long.”
“Or... have been hanging around me exactly the right length?”
“Sheesh, Sam. Do you have to make everything weird? What’s next?”
“Let’s bring in his mother. She needs protection, too.”
“Want us to get her?”
“No, let me talk to her.”
“Want her address?”
“That would be swell.”