Hunted by the Past, page 2
I stuffed my keys into my pocket, but kept my walking stick close. It made a great security blanket. I might be the only person in the house, but it didn’t stop me from going back and conducting a more thorough search.
After clearing the house once more, I stood in the living room, as worry cracked my interior barriers letting the fear slither through. There were no glaring clues for me to follow. Kelsey was just gone. If wasn’t for the fact her cell was on the kitchen counter, I would’ve called her carrier to trace her GPS. For the first time, the concept of tagging people with GPS chips sounded good.
Another solution rose and for a brief moment I considered calling on old acquaintances in shadowy places for a few favors. I nixed that idea in the bud. If I popped back up on the radar there would be too many questions to answer. I wasn’t that desperate. Yet.
Which left me with what?
I tapped the end of my staff against the floor. Looking around, a nebulous plan began to form. There was one option, and as much as I didn’t relish the idea, it was one I could use. With no other solutions on the horizon, the question of whether or not it would work remained beside the point.
I tightened my grip on the staff, and then headed back toward my room. With each step my stomach lurched and cotton filled my mouth, but this was my best chance at finding Kelsey. I left the staff propped just inside the door, and crossed to my bed. My fingers stroked over her shirt as I found the courage to take the next step. Months has passed since the last time I tried this. Knowing what needed to be done and doing it were two very different things.
I slowly sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers crushing the soft material, and the light scent Kelsey wore brushed me. Even that small comfort couldn’t counter the sickening apprehension swirling in my stomach, my body rebelling at what was to come. I balled up the material and held it chest high, needing the focus of something she’d touched.
My nerves tightened and a mental voice questioned the sanity of going through with this when it could end up a pointless endeavor. I told it to shut the hell up, I wasn’t abandoning Kelsey. It would work, it always did.
And if it went wrong? That stupid voice pushed. What then?
I tightened my lips. So long as it helped me find Kelsey I’d handle it, dammit.
Blowing out a breath, I dropped my cloth-covered hands to rest on my thighs and closed my eyes. Dragging in a deep breath, my chest expanded. I held it and then let it go. Kelsey’s scent colored my thoughts. My mind raced. Maintaining the pattern of breath, I forced everything out of my head but an awareness of Kelsey.
Slow in. Hold. Push out.
Slow in. Hold. Push out.
The AC hit its prearranged goal and clicked off, the sudden blanket of silence snapping my spine straight and interrupting my breathing. My eyes flashed open and I waited for my spiking pulse to level off before starting over.
The creepy silence curled around me, and pushing it away took longer than anticipated. Eventually my thoughts cleared and with frustrating slowness the mental path to the secret spot in my mind took shape. The delay wasn’t unexpected considering the lack of use and a whole shitload of denial piled on top of it.
Once uncovered, I followed it down past memories, both good and bad, until I reached the end. On the never-ending horizon of my mind, a towering wall loomed. For a moment I stood and stared. Buried behind the formidable barrier of my subconscious pulsed a strange energy, the one thing in this world guaranteed to turn me into a blathering idiot.
Bracing myself, I began tearing the wall down. Piece by piece, I demolished the blocks until the entire subconscious structure shuddered and collapsed. I opened my eyes, careful to keep my focus on my lap and my sense of Kelsey foremost in my mind. I braced and looked up, only to flinch.
Yep, definitely missed a few things.
The past replayed like a crazy barrage of scattered, silent-film images, layered in moments of time. The confusing whirlwind scouring gouges in my heart. This house held so many memories of those I loved and each one played out in snatches of stolen time, one memory on top of another, creating a visual pandemonium. Some were faint, while others shoved forward only to be pulled back under, but each one was fragmented. This was what could drive me insane. Almost had at one point.
I struggled to find my mental footing, not easily accomplished thanks to rusty skills, but like riding a bike, I found my balance and zeroed in on what I needed.
A pale and worried Kelsey strode through my bedroom door. Her image wavered, threatening to fade. I narrowed my concentration, determined not to lose her. The visuals steadied, firmed. Her white-blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the base of her neck, her jaw was clenched as she dropped her hobo purse onto the bed, and then dragged her suitcase onto the mattress.
Considering how clear the images were, her emotions had to have been off the charts. My strange ability tended to be a complete mystery, but generally when I played Peeping Tom with the past, it was choppy and hazy. Painful experience taught me the more emotionally connected I was to a person or event, the clearer the picture.
I watched Kelsey unpack. Then the image began to fade as an older one tried to take center stage. My fingers tightened on the shirt in my lap as I struggled to bring Kelsey’s image back. It took a few nerve stretching moments, but she reappeared. This time she was getting ready to hang up her shirt, when her head lifted like a hound coming on point and turned to the door.
Old frustrations and resentments tried to tumble forth, but I shoved them back. Wishing for a reliable soundtrack to the images in front of me would get me nowhere. It was hard enough to keep my attention centered on the right memory. Most times I was lucky to get a comprehensive scene. I seemed to be eternally relegated to a watcher position, and not once had I been able to hear anything. That quirk hammered home early on the old axiom of ‘you can’t change the past’.
As my concentration wavered, the image in front of me broke up like clouds after a storm. Mental focus pounded into me by the U.S. Marines snapped into place and once more, Kelsey reappeared. This time, she pulled something out of her bag. When her hand reappeared, it was wrapped around a nine mil Sig Sauer P226. A gun which should be tucked inside the gun safe at her condo. In Tempe. Twisting slightly to stay with the scene, I couldn’t stop my muttered, “What the hell, Kels?”
Kelsey hated guns, but loved me, hence her agreement to keep a small gun safe at her condo for my occasional visits. Guns were my version of Teddy Bears. I didn’t like being with out one, so Kelsey eventually gave in and let me keep one or two at her place when I was out of town.
The marines had uncovered a natural shooting skill, one I kept up even after my discharge. I taught Kelsey a few basics, and the lessons had obviously stuck, because she kept the barrel aimed at the floor, and her finger to the side of the trigger. She crept toward the bedroom door, the gun steady in her two-handed grip.
Fully caught in the past, I rose from the bed to follow the image of the gun-toting Kelsey through the bedroom door. Her image disappeared into a swirl of disjointed memories. I stumbled down the hall, desperate to recapture the scene, my pulse racing. Based on Kelsey’s actions, someone was about to make an appearance.
Near the front entryway, I hit pay dirt. She stood with her back to the wall, the gun extended in front of her as she sidled closer to the door. Her eyes widened, fear racing across her face, as her grip loosened. Her inattention lasted maybe one or two seconds, but that’s all it took for her to lose any advantage. Her fear had to be bone deep to leave such a sharp memory behind.
I needed to get beyond the front door, because too many emotions occurred when people came and went, muddying the residual memories. Sure enough, the ever-changing impressions swirled and Kelsey’s image disappeared. Struggling to find her, I worked my way through the front hall until a flash of pale hair behind something big near the living room caught my attention.
I drew closer. Kelsey faced off against a looming figure. Male, judging by the size. I noted the jeans, drab T-shirt, and heavy-soled boots for later reference as I worked my way around. I needed a face, but when I got in position I frowned in confusion. Like a channel just off center, his head and shoulders was covered by a disturbing blur of static that created a lingering menace.
That was new. Maybe Kelsey’s fear was behind this unusual phenomena?
Then my heart stopped as he moved his hands in a familiar, lightning-quick disarm move until the gun was pointed at Kelsey. My emotions spiked, fracturing my concentration, and the scene wavered. I fought for calm, scared to lose what little control I held. Everything steadied. I sucked in a breath of relief, but it was too soon.
Kelsey’s emotions crested like a deadly undercurrent. Frantic, I struggled to gather as much information as I could before it dragged me under. When her shock morphed to anger, it added a desperate edge to her movements. Her self-defense skills were rusty, but she kept him off balance. A quick strike knocked the gun out of his hand and out of the scene. His efficient counterattack revealed he was simply playing with her.
Judging by her rapidly encroaching panic, she knew it too. She began to back away, her lips moving, her fear evident in the white lines around her mouth and her fists clenched at her sides. The only indicator of her underlying fear were her sidelong glances for escape.
Even knowing I could change nothing, instinct had me stepping closer so I could reach out and drag her to safety. My hand closed on empty air.
She disappeared.
Frustration boiled, and I spun around, frantic to find her again. Wisps of other memories circled, but I shoved through them. Rubbing at the dull ache in my temples, the soft brush of forgotten cloth reminded me I still held her shirt. Bunching it up, I pressed it to my face and dragged her scent into my lungs. Her familiar fragrance wrapped around me, and stalled my rising frustration. The minute break gave me a chance to reclaim my focus.
I dropped my hands and looked around. It took precious time to work through the layers of memories, but I found Kelsey on the floor, her attacker’s hand wrapped around her throat. Her fingers scrabbled at his tanned wrist, leaving behind bloody gouges. A bright red, hand-shaped mark covered one side of her face, indicating she’d been hit at least once.
My anger joined her panic, increasing the emotional draw exponentially. It seeped through my mental barriers and sent me to a level I rarely experienced. One where the lines blurred between my reality and the past.
Rough hands tightened around my throat, choking off my air. I clawed at the phantom grip, as terror soared, buoying me above Kelsey’s emotional waves. The pressure on my throat disappeared, and I sucked in air as I instinctively lunged for the guy still holding Kelsey to the floor. The sharp pain of my shin meeting the edge of an end table not only shattered the scene, but brought me back to the present with the brutal reminder I couldn’t change a damn thing. All I could do was stand by and helplessly watch the echoes. Swearing on a harsh sob, I limped around the table trying to recapture the past.
I made it to the counter separating the kitchen and dining room when Kelsey reappeared. This time her attacker had her against his chest, his arm locked against her throat. Bright blood trickled from the side of her mouth and her lips were swollen. Still, she continued to struggle.
He leaned in and said something I couldn’t hear.
Her movements stilled, her face whitened, and pure terror turned her eyes a deep blue. Those terrified eyes locked on to mine and I staggered as I heard Kelsey’s voice whisper through my mind. “Run, Cyn!”
Then they disappeared.
Chapter 2
Shock held me motionless at actually hearing Kelsey’s warning. It meant something, but damned if I knew what. There was no ‘normal’ for reliving the past, no handy user guide.
What had changed?
The images were gone, but there had to be something more. Something I could use. Even as my head began to pound, I kept my weird other sight open and retraced my steps through the hall, frantically searching for any other signs. Anything I might have missed.
The swirling images coalesced in a confused blur and faded even faster, as if my intensity chased them away. Frustration peaked.
Maybe if I went back to my room and started over?
As I passed the front door, a shadow wavered across the glass-block window. I froze. Someone, a large someone, stood outside the door. My gaze dropped to the doorknob. Unlocked.
Shit!
It began to turn slowly. I had a handful of seconds before it would open. Slamming my mental walls back up sent a ferocious ache behind my eyes, but the need to know what was real and now, and what wasn’t, was critical. The door crept open.
Praying the glass column wouldn’t give away my presence, I carefully shifted against the wall behind the door. As the door continued to move, it also blocked line of sight. Of course whoever was behind it, couldn’t see me either.
Which meant I had one shot. Wrapping my hand on the knob, I shoved my shoulder and weight into the door, slamming it forward.
A muffled grunt confirmed the presence of a real, live body. Unfortunately, the door encountered a freaking battering ram and bounced back. Since I didn’t want to be stuck between the door and the wall, I stumbled out of the tight space and into the hall. My weak leg did not like the twists and turns, but I needed distance from whoever came through my door and my escape routes were limited.
Open living room or the bedrooms?
Remembering my staff propped by my bedroom door, I turned to run. Behind me, the sound of the door being shoved flat against the wall jerked my attention back to the entryway. Cold sweat erupted down my spine.
The man strong-arming my door stood at least six two and he wasn’t selling cookies. A black T-shirt outlined broad shoulders and a heavy chest, explaining why my brilliant plan of knocking him back through the doorway was destined for failure.
My mind processed the details, trying to put the pieces together. Brown hair, thick and shaggy, framed dark eyes in a startlingly savage face. Still reeling from using my stupid ability, I couldn’t make the picture stick, but a niggling sense of familiarity lingered. But now wasn’t the time for polite introductions.
An impressive snarl emerged from inside the neatly trimmed goatee, “Hello, Cyn.” His deep voice raised every hair on my body and sent my pulse into overdrive. It tore through me, unlocking memories better left alone.
Unprepared, bitter anger joined the fear blooming thick and hot, shattering my immobility. I lunged down the hall. My hand was within a hair’s breadth of my walking stick when my forward momentum came to an abrupt halt. Fingers bit into my upper right arm, spinning me around. Since my left arm remained free, I used the spin’s movement for an awkward elbow strike.
He leaned back. I missed, but he let go of my arm. However, his leg sweep took me by surprise. The asshole knew which leg to target too.
The narrow hallway made it impossible to avoid crashing my shoulder into the wall. A grunt escaped as I hit the ground. Mindless fury vied for a toehold, but I beat it back. He might be bigger, but I fought dirtier. Down on the floor was not my first choice, but daring a quick glance behind me confirmed a few more inches would even the odds. Scrambling back with awkward speed, I dodged the hand set to lock around my ankle. I kicked and gained another inch.
His low, frustrated growl proved the needed impetus for my last desperate bid for my staff. A rough tug on my pant leg dragged me down the hall, and I almost lost my tentative hold on the staff.
Breath pummeled my chest, while claws of panic and resentment dug in deep. Clutching the staff in both hands, I swung down. Not the strongest way to hit, but it might buy me a chance to get back on my feet. If it hit his thick skull, so much the better.
He let go of my jeans and blocked the strike. Admiration for his quick reflexes sparked on some weirdly disconnected level. Unfortunately, he grabbed the other end and I soon found myself in a tug-of-war for the staff.
“Arden! Enough,” he barked out.
Old habits are a bitch to break, and his sharp command slapped me into momentary stillness. Narrowing my eyes, I studied my opponent. The hair was longer, the goatee was new, but the mocking anger in his face, that was all too familiar. So was the stinging emotion I refused to recognize, but shoved into a deep, dark corner. “What the hell do you want?”
“Always so polite. Nice to see some things don’t change.” His sardonic tone grated over my nerves like sandpaper.
“Screw you.” I yanked on the staff.
He arched an eyebrow. “Are you offering?”
“Not in this lifetime,” I snapped. “Let go, dammit.”
He smiled. “Promise not to brain me?”
I kept my mouth shut.
He must have seen something reassuring on my face, because he slowly let go of the staff. Yanking it back, I put as much space as I could between us, only to stop when my spine met the doorjamb. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, and settled against the hall wall, pulling his long legs up until his feet were flat on the floor. The flash of an impressive tattoo peeked from under the T-shirt’s sleeve.
My gaze went to his wrists, looking for evidence he was behind Kelsey’s attack. If so, all bets were off. They appeared scratch free.
I assured myself it wasn’t relief I felt as I studied him. I knew he was dangerous, but the knowledge did little to ease the ache of his presence. Reminders of why this particular man didn’t deserve shit from me, and nothing that he said could be trusted, ran through my head.
He stared back with a disconcerting intensity. He had the dark and dangerous look down pat. It wasn’t his coloring. His sun-streaked brown hair just brushed his collar, and his skin told of someone who enjoyed the outdoors, but the strong, edgy aura surrounding him made me pause. So did the grim look in his navy blue eyes, turning them darker than the impending clouds during monsoon season.
I held his gaze, and fought the urge to squirm as memories pressed close and heat bloomed in my face.
