Chapter Fifteen

I told Jeremy to go out and play.

One look at Detective Raucher’s face and I knew why he was here. Later, I grasped my mistake in letting Jeremy out the door. I shouldn’t have let him go, knowing something was waiting, lurking, to get its claws into us. But in the moment my mind only registered the worry in the detective’s face when he came to me for help.

I was too near the fire to fool with it. I knew too much, most of it unbelievable, and I was scared for all of us.

“Let’s sit down. Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?” The detective had already seen Jim in the doorway between the front room and the kitchen and had acknowledged him with a curt nod of his head. I supposed when he’d said he wanted to see me alone, he’d meant no children. I didn’t need to guess what he was there to tell me. I felt numb inside and when I looked at Jim he was standing against the wall, his fingers rubbing his temples as if his head hurt.

The detective smiled, a half-hearted smile, for the first time since he’d walked in the door. “A cup of coffee sounds real good. I need it.” He settled down on the couch across from me and I noted the weariness in his movements. “Hopefully it’ll help me to stay awake. I’ve been up most of the night.” He let out a soft sigh.

I got up to get him his coffee.

I’d wanted to dislike Detective Raucher, but today he wasn’t the same arrogant man he’d been when I first met him. Today he seemed to be a troubled soul and my heart went out to him. “Have you eaten? I can offer you a sandwich or something, Detective.”

“Call me Ben. A sandwich sounds great. How kind. Thank you.”

I fancied he was looking at me differently, considering something. For some reason, possibly his humbleness, I said, “I’ll get you some coffee and a bacon sandwich. Do you take cream in your coffee?”

“A little. A little sugar as well.”

I went into the kitchen and prepared it, my heart fluttering in my chest. I knew why he came and what he wanted. I was on edge and didn’t know what to do. I could hear him and my brother speaking in low tones in the other room and found myself formulating little lies and half-truths to get out of helping him. But no matter what I came up with, it was going to sound bad. He’d want to know why I wouldn’t help.

I stopped myself, thinking I might be jumping the gun. There was a chance he wasn’t here to ask for my help at all. Could be he didn’t know about me.

When I entered the front room they were both sitting on the couch in silence and looked up at me as if I’d interrupted something.

“Here’s your sandwich, Ben.” I smiled, uncomfortable at using his first name when I hardly knew him. They were staring at me as if I were an alien who’d just strolled into the room and Jim’s eyes said more than a hundred words. I set the mug of hot coffee on the coffee table. “I hope one sugar is enough, because that’s what I put in it.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” Ben put the coffee to his lips. I sat down in the chair in front of him, waiting. He ravaged the sandwich in record time.

“It’s all right. I’ve got more, if you’re that hungry.” I was trying to put off the inevitable, as he was. With a sheepish grin he handed me his empty coffee cup. I refilled it and sat down again.

Now was the time. None of us had any small talk left.

“Well, I guess, it’s down to business,” I announced. Jim seemed to be off in his own little world so it surprised me when he inserted, “Sarah, Ben knows about you. Your gift, that is.”

“You do, do you?” I addressed Ben. Why did I always feel guilty when someone found out about my psychic abilities? A thief caught with his hands in the till or the child who’s caught in a blatant lie. Over the years, I came to think it was better to deny my abilities. Sometimes it was easier than facing them. Sitting there facing Ben, I remembered what happened after Charlie’s death. The way the police looked at me when I’d told them everything I knew. They behaved as if I were crazy—the way most people reacted. Always the same. I found myself hoping Ben wouldn’t look at me that way. I didn’t want anyone to look at me like that anymore.

“The first day I met you, your name rang a bell, but I didn’t make the connection until later. You’re that famous psychic who made all the papers some years ago with those murder cases.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“I know. I checked it out. I have friends in the Benchley police department, so I had access to your files.” He shook his head, his expression apologetic, as if to defend himself. “I’m sorry, but I had more than enough reason to pull those files. I wanted to know more about you.”

“So that’s how you found out?” My voice was a little too caustic.

“In the beginning I was simply curious about you. A mystery woman suddenly shows up to reclaim an old dilapidated house, one rumored to be haunted and connected to a family that once lived and died around here. I’ve been a detective too long to pass that up.”

He offered a small smile and I found myself thinking, he really was a handsome man when he wasn’t acting so macho.

“Then one thing led to another and your name was mentioned, by one of the old-timers at the station who remembered you as a child. He said he talked to you once about something that happened here about fifteen years ago.” He was hesitating, an awkwardness in his voice. His eyes were on my face, waiting for a reaction.

I exchanged a look with Jim who was standing as still as stone. I knew I was on my own. “And?”

“The guy told me the story of your family and, later, through the old records, I pieced together the rest of it. You two are the only ones left,” he spoke softly. “I’m sorry to pry. It happened.”

“Why are you here?”

“Sarah, there’s been another murder.”

I squeezed my eyes shut so he wouldn’t see the pain. I heard Jim groan, “Oh, no.”

“A little boy about ten years old.” He waved his hand towards the trees. “He was reported missing yesterday evening and we’ve been out combing the area for him since. We found him this morning near the woods. Mauled to death.” Ben appeared to be choking on his words and they were filled with angry grief.

“You want me to come in on the case and help as a psychic, right?” I was trying to sound indignant, as if he were bothering me, but I didn’t let him answer. “I’m sorry about the child, Detective. But I can’t help you.” My eyes slid to Jim’s for support, but he was off in dreamland somewhere and I wondered again if he was really okay. Lately, he didn’t seem to be present. “If you read my files, you know I don’t offer my help to police departments anymore.”

Ben interrupted me. “Oh, I know about your unfortunate experiences. They shouldn’t stop you from helping, if you can. On the whole, you had an unbelievable track record. So what if you made a couple of mistakes? You can still help. Think of the little boy.”

“You don’t understand. I don’t do that anymore.” I trotted out the excuses, feeling uneasy as I always did when I avoided the truth. “My life was turning into a three-ring circus and I wouldn’t, couldn’t allow it to go on. Do you know what it’s like to have people calling you all hours of the day and night wanting help? More help than one person can give? Crazy fanatical people calling you a freak, or wanting to cash in on your gift, while others wanted to lock you up in a windowless room and tap your brain?

“I was sick of it. I’d turned into an oddity in a side show. I had a husband and a child, Detective, and I’d had enough. I have to start thinking about myself and my son. It’s one of the reasons I came here. I had to get away from all of it.”

“You don’t understand.” He was going to start begging now and that, coming from someone like Ben Raucher, would make me feel worse than I already did.

As I stood up, my legs trembled. “Oh, but I do understand. You want me to blow my cover and start the circus all over again. I won’t do it. I’m sorry.”

“A child, Sarah! A poor child like your Jeremy out there.” Now he was getting desperate. He came to his feet, too, and looked over to Jim for support. He found none there. Jim was staring at the wall. As he usually did when he was faced with adversity, he’d withdrawn. A chill crawled up my spine, seeing him that way.

Ben grabbed my hand and there was ice in his dark eyes. “A child like Jeremy, a child like your brother Charlie all those years ago.” There was a subtle insinuation and I glared at him, something sinking somewhere in the pit of my stomach because I knew what he was going to say next before he said it.

“Why are you bringing ancient history into this?”

“It’s not ancient history any longer. I know there’s a connection between this latest murder and your brother’s seventeen years ago. The boy was killed the same way as your brother and the others. It’s a hunch now, but I’m going to prove it, I swear. You know more than you’re telling. I don’t only want your psychic abilities, I want your help. You’re already involved and you can opt to be on my side or you can run away again as you did years ago.”

His eyes locked with mine and my guilt returned with a vengeance. He had me and we both knew it. He was one smart cop. He did his job well.

I sat down slowly and cradled my face in my hands, hiding behind my fingers. I had to compose myself, get my thoughts in some kind of order, before I could say anything else.

After a minute or so, I said, “I’m not running anymore, Ben.” I was so tired. So sick of the games. The avoidance. Running.

Yet I had to protect my son. I couldn’t put him in danger and if I tried to interfere, he would be. I was angry, again, and it wasn’t Ben I should be cross at. It was the thing in the woods holding us all prisoners. I shuddered. Something snapped inside me and for the first time in many years I felt the anger redirect itself. Wasn’t it time? I was sick of living in fear. It was time to stand our ground and resist. I’d show it! I’d give it a hell of a run for its money before it pulled me down. I wasn’t going to be as easy a prey as the others. By God, I wasn’t! I was going to fight.

Ben tilted up my chin and searched my face. No longer only a cop, but someone who wanted to be my friend.

“Sarah, I have the feeling you aren’t involved in these murders in any criminal sense, but I’m hoping you can help us find some answers. I’m afraid there’ll be more murders. It’s a pattern, don’t you see?”

I looked away and nodded. He gently brushed the stray hair from my face and gave me a reassuring smile. “You’ll help me then? Not only as a psychic but as someone familiar with the case by past experience?

“Both of you?” He was asking Jim, too.

I felt sorry for us. All of us lost, pitiful, ineffectual humans up against something stronger and more devious than us.

I wanted to lay Ben’s head against my shoulder and soothe him. He seemed so upset by the child’s murder. In a jolt of awareness, I had to stop myself from doing it.

“Ben, I’ll help,” I promised, pulling away. “But anonymously, not officially. No one else can know I’m involved.”

I’d help him stop the murders, if I could, but it was all I’d do. I wasn’t going to get tangled up with another macho, self-centered cop. No matter how sweet or sincere he acted. They were all alike. Men. All alike. They wanted you until they had you and then they wanted someone else. Oh, I’d help Ben. As long as it didn’t harm any of us, I’d help until it became too dangerous.

“He’s right, Sarah.” It startled me when Jim spoke up. “We can’t do it by ourselves any longer. Three against something is better than two.” He asked Ben, “Where do we start?”

I threw a meaningful glance at my brother when Ben wasn’t looking. Be careful, it warned, and he understood. There was only so much we could divulge. If he thought we were totally off our rockers, it would taint the deal.

“You start with the truth. Or anything you know that might shed some light on what happened last night.” Ben described the murder and what he knew about the case. He asked us a question every so often as his story unfolded.

I told him about the vision I’d had of the child’s death and told him what he wanted to know about our family and Charlie’s death. There were many things reports and dusty files couldn’t explain—especially the human side of the tragedy. Little details over looked or never reported. I told him as much as I thought he could swallow.

We talked for a long time. I could see he was distressed by the deaths, and puzzled. The truth wasn’t pretty and I felt sick, knowing I was partly the reason for it. This I didn’t dare tell him. I thought I was at fault somehow, but couldn’t figure out why. There were so many secrets I had to keep. My whole life was a grave full of them.

There were things I had to say I wished I didn’t. He listened. I could see his thoughts churning behind his eyes. I wondered if he believed everything. I couldn’t tell. “You’re right about one thing,” I told him as he was getting up to leave, “there will be more murders, unless we can find a way to stop them.”

“Are you sure? I mean, have you had another vision or something?”

“Not exactly. I feel there’ll be more but I don’t know when. I might not know, I can’t force it. The visions, the premonitions, whatever, come when they come.” I watched his reaction. He was guarding himself carefully. “I never asked to have this so-called gift, Ben. I never wanted it. I hate it. Ran from it, the responsibilities of it, all my life.

“There are many times I can’t understand what’s going on, or I can’t help anyway. The crime’s been committed. I’m only being shown what’s already happened.” I shivered and I thought he was going to put his arms around me. He didn’t. “Sometimes, “I whispered, “it’s torture.”

He cleared his throat and gently touched my hand. “I understand. Believe me, it wasn’t easy asking for your help, either. I debated a long time before I came over here today. It’s not that I thought you wouldn’t help, it’s that…” He stopped, perhaps embarrassed at what he was trying to say.

I finished for him. I’d seen that look too many times not to know it. “You never believed in this kind of stuff before, correct?”

“You got it.” He was talking to both of us now. “I’ve been a cop for over a decade and, believe me, I thought I’d seen it all. Yet I can honestly say in all this time I’ve never run across anyone I thought was a genuine psychic. A lot of quacks or con artists claim to have the power, but they’re usually trying to get either attention or money. Or both. I used to laugh my socks off at ‘em, hang up on them or not so politely kick them out of my office.” He gave me that scrutinizing look again. “But I’ve never had a case I needed help on more than this one. The boy’s body was the most pitiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Why do you believe I’m the genuine article?”

“Your track record.” He gave me a smile which helped dispel the awkwardness.

Had he really accepted my gift, I thought, and could I really help? Or were Jim and I merely two suspicious characters he’d put on his list to be watched because there were too many unexplainable coincidences tying us to this latest murder? I couldn’t be sure, but earlier Jim had been right. We did need help. Ben needed help. Why not help each other.

“Ben, I have to tell you I can’t promise I’ll see something in time. I mean, as I said, I can’t make the visions come. They do or they don’t.”

“I understand. You’re sure you won’t come on the case officially? There’s more evidence you’d be given access to if you’d come down to the station.” He sure didn’t give up easily.

“No.” I accompanied him to the door. “I can’t. The media would smell it a mile away and then—poof—I’d be the news story of the day, the brunt of jokes and mistrust, again. You must promise not to mention my name to anyone,” I reminded him, urgently.

“That’s one of the reasons I believe you’re a true psychic, if one exists. You’re not a fame seeker. You’re not like that, are you?”

“I’m not. I want to be left alone. I’ve had too many years of intrusive publicity.”

“And none of us will let you have any privacy,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll call you if anything happens. If I get any more visions.” Looking past Ben through the glass of the door, I saw the sun lowering into the horizon. I didn’t see Jeremy anywhere.

“I’ll keep you up to date on what’s happening. I have to go home and get some rest, and then I’ll join the men out in the woods again. We’re still searching the crime scene for clues. For anything. I think the department is bringing in specialists to help. We haven’t had a murder like this in a long time.”

Seventeen years, his eyes said to me.

“Here’s the numbers at my office and my home.” He handed me a scrap of paper with numbers scribbled on them. “Home number is the bottom one.”

* * * *

Then he was gone. I was still looking out the door, seeking Jeremy’s bright head. No Jeremy. When I closed the door I peered out the windows to see if he was on the side of the house or playing in the bushes.

“What’s the matter, Sis?” Jim asked, trailing on my heels as I walked to the kitchen and looked out the rear door. The tree was empty.

“I don’t know. I have a funny feeling. I don’t see Jeremy anywhere, do you?”

Jim shook his head and went out the door at a brisk walk. I stood and watched him move around the corner of the house. He didn’t return for a while and when he did, he was alone.

“Don’t worry, Sarah,” he comforted. “The kid will be back soon, you’ll see. He’s out playing somewhere. It’s not even dark yet.”

But it was late afternoon and the sun was a weak ball shining in the sky. “Maybe you’re right. He’s around the house somewhere. I did tell him to stay close.” He could be out hiding in the bushes.

“He’ll be home before nightfall. He knows the rules, Sis. Besides I don’t think it can hurt him unless he goes into those woods.” He was staring out the window.

Part of me wasn’t so sure, but part of me refused to accept what had happened the night before, as well as this new murder. It didn’t seem real because it hadn’t touched us. Yet. Then I remembered those screams from the woods, and it seemed all too real.

Jim sensed my anxiety. I could see it in his expression.

“If he doesn’t show up in fifteen minutes,” he said. “I’ll go looking for him.”

I knew I’d be going with him. My son couldn’t be outside after dark. Especially not now.

I got supper going as if nothing were wrong. Jim sat in the kitchen chair with his guitar and strummed a bit, trying to work out the words of a new song he was writing. His voice relaxed me. I loved to listen to him make his music.

He had a lot on his mind. I knew there was so much he wanted to say, but nothing he would. We knew each other so well. He was worried about Jeremy, and as frightened as I was, distressed about the child’s death last night.

But Jeremy was only outside playing as so many other children do. Outside playing. He’d be scooting in the door any minute.