Part 5 (1/2)
”Is Sandra your friend's mother?”
”Yes, and I was able to get an object for a reading. I'm not sure how useful it'll be, but I figured it was worth a try.” Celeste took the wooden pen from her purse. ”It belongs to Kelly's sister, Lea.”
”Do you suspect Lea is behind her own mother's murder?”
She blew out a breath. ”I don't know what to think,” she said, then told Maxine about the exchange at Kelly's townhouse.
”Ah, the list of suspects increases. Tread lightly. Remember, without evidence you can do nothing for Sandra.”
”Right. So what do you say to us trying another reading?”
Maxine pulled a notepad from the desk, then brought it to her. ”Maybe you should use the pen for your scribbles.”
”Okay. It's worth a shot.”
”Do you want me to leave again?” Maxine asked. ”I promise this time I won't sneak back into the room.”
Celeste smiled. ”No, it's okay. And I'm sorry for the way I reacted yesterday. That last reading was...different.” She shrugged. ”For whatever reason.”
”You know why,” Maxine said, and took a seat in the opposite chair. ”I suspect you might feel a connection to Sandra because of your mother. I'm curious about her.”
”My mom?”
”Yes, what was her name?”
”Janice.”
”Ian told me a bit about her when he first called me about you two years ago. Based on what he'd said, I believe your mom was able to speak to the dead, not just feel their auras.”
From what she'd read in her mom's journals, Celeste had come to the same conclusion. ”Maybe. We'll never know.” Which irritated her. Why wouldn't her mom have given her more guidance? Had her mom a.s.sumed she didn't have the same capabilities? ”It doesn't matter now. What does is trying to piece this puzzle together.”
”If you say so.”
”What does that mean?” she asked, defensive. Back in Wisconsin, when the dead had begun to use her body to speak vicariously through her, there had been times when she'd resented her mom. She'd died. Abandoned her without making sure she'd had the knowledge she would need to understand the true potential of her gift. Or curse.
”I believe it does matter. There's a strong possibility that you could have her talent. And if you do...” Maxine leaned forward and touched her hand. ”Let's worry about that later.”
Celeste didn't care for the other woman's ominous tone. ”You brought it up, so maybe we should worry about it now.”
Maxine's forehead creased as she frowned. ”Celeste, I can speak to the dead, but I've never had those that have pa.s.sed use my body to physically tell their story. Quite frankly, I hope to G.o.d I never will. You, on the other hand, have had this happen to you. It's a gift that could be deadly if you're not aware how to control it.”
”But with the scribbles, I can keep myself grounded, right?”
”I don't know. Ink on a page might not be enough.”
”On the way over here, I had that queasy feeling again. I put all of my thoughts and energy into John, and it subsided a bit. Maybe he grounds me, too.”
”Maybe.” Maxine gave her a rea.s.suring smile. ”But let's worry about that later. I'm here with you now, should anything happen. And, honestly, I would prefer if you didn't do a reading without me. As your gift continues to return, it could grow stronger. Before your mind suppressed it, you were already at a level that exceeds my...comfort zone. If that makes sense.”
It made absolute sense. h.e.l.l, she couldn't remember her past trances, but based on the recording she'd heard, on how she'd physically hurt herself-without any memory-she'd gone beyond exceeding her comfort zone, too.
She glanced to Lea's pen, which sat on the table between her and Maxine. ”Am I better off pretending I never saw anything? It could be I'm wrong and Sandra did commit suicide. Maybe my mind-”
”Pick up the pen, Celeste. You can't pretend this away. Better yet, ask yourself...can I go to Sandra's funeral and allow her to be buried without knowing the truth? If you're right, Sandra needs justice in order for her spirit to rest.”
”And if I'm wrong?”
Maxine leaned into the chair and raised a challenging brow. ”There's only one way to find out.”
Chapter 6.
CELESTE PRESSED THE wood pen against the paper and stared at it as she began to draw circles. The grain of the wood was twisted and warped, the effect almost hypnotizing. She closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate on the pen's owner, and once again imagined that the loops and curves were energy. She pictured the ink rising from the page, then wrapping around her like a rope and dragging her into the shadows. Into the unknown.
As the ink rope yanked her, she opened her mind, saw the pen suspended in blackness. It twirled in the air as if it were a baton, then stopped and pointed down. When she reached for it, the pen zipped away, leaving a trail of red ink in its wake. Curious, anxious to see where the pen would lead her, she quickly rushed after it, grabbled the end, then let it take her for a ride.
The pen moved faster and faster. In the distance she saw the blackness turning into a foggy gray. She knew she needed to move beyond the gray and into the light. Opening her mind, welcoming the unknown she allowed the pen to take over, take her deeper into that familiar vortex until- ”There's...to cover...bills.”
A man? The voice doubled over itself in an indiscernible echo. Celeste looked around and tried desperately to see who had spoken. For whatever reason, she couldn't. Unlike yesterday, nothing was clear. Instead it was a blur, as if she were looking through a camera lens that was out of focus.
”Celeste, where are you?”
Maxine. She sounded so far away. ”I don't know.”
”Is there someone with you?”
Celeste glanced to the left. A sudden sharp pierce needled its way behind her right eye as an out-of-focus figure emerged. ”Yes. I can't tell who, or if they're a man or a woman.” Another figure showed itself. ”Wait, there's someone else here.”
”What do you sense, Celeste?” Maxine asked, her voice soothing and keeping her more grounded than the scribbles. ”What do you feel?”
She gasped. ”Desperation. Fear. Wait-”
”And whose fault is that?” This voice was stronger than the other had been and, although it echoed over itself, she knew without a doubt that it was a woman's. But was it Lea's? ”Maybe if you hadn't gambled our money away, we-”
”Me?” A dark-gray aura moved in the shadows. ”You're the one who wanted to live here and said we could afford it.” As the voice became clearer, she realized it belonged to a man. ”How could you put us in this position?”
The woman moved. So strange. Celeste could see the subtle outline of her figure, but she hung in the air contorting like a wisp of black smoke in a funhouse mirror. ”If you were half the man you bragged to be we would be-”
”I make good money.”
”It's not enough,” the woman yelled, her figure becoming reddish-black.
”It never was.” He snorted, his aura turning to a mustard color. ”That b.i.t.c.h spoiled you, and now you think you deserve anything you want.”
”When that b.i.t.c.h dies I will get what I want. Three hundred thousand dollars will not only cover the bills you're so worried about, but-”
The man laughed-the sound harsh, cruel. ”You keep telling yourself that. But you and I both know we can't count on that money.”