Taken for Memories: Book Three of the Dísir Series

By Vivian Griffen

The third book of the Disir Series, Bennett Sinclair is still trying to make sense of the strange supernatural world that exists along side what most people consider normal.

Now there are strange happening around the city; people are losing the will to think and act on their own.

Bennett Sinclair is on the edge of having the life he'd dreamed of. Now this reluctant psychic has to balance his secret and public lives while contending with an ancient evil from his past, treat with ghouls, negotiate with pucks, fight with trolls, and keep on the good side of Children Services.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vivian Griffen
• Release date: Apr 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301314720

Vivian Griffen

V. Griffen remembers writing her first story at age eight, a suspense-thriller involving a long and terrifying walk home from grade school and encountering her own shadow. The stories never stopped and many a digital tree is now carrying her words and characters into posterity. Now she’s made the supremely daring choice to inflict a few of her stories upon the unsuspecting population. V. Griffen is an author, artist, historian and inveterate researcher of any topic that strikes her fancy of the moment. She's lived in New York, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania. Newly relocated to Montana, she is awed and humbled in the wide-open prairies. Having worked at seemingly every job imaginable, she concluded that the width of her experience is best used to bring depth to her novels, focusing on her love of paranormal urban contemporary fiction.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Heavens roared as my body hit the wall.

Or, that could have been the ringing in my ears as my head fogged. Plaster trickled down onto my face as my lungs tried to remember to breath. Stars exploded in front of my eyes, giving me a glimpse into the whole Big Bang Theory. I had nothing better to contemplate as I flopped on the floor, limbs sprawled every which way.

As the universe calmed down enough to settle into nebula and comets, voices penetrated through the mist of time.

What the hell are you doing?

He’ll be okay.

"You threw him into a wall, man." This was followed by a spate of foreign words that sounded…pretty creative. If I had half a brain, I’d try and remember the invectives.

A small face appeared in my line of sight, pale and worried. It was enough to begin marshalling my brain to start doing its job again. Grumbling, it complied enough to allow me to roll over.

It’s okay. My voice was wheezy. I tried again. I’m okay. All right, that was marginally better. I gave a wan smile, but the kid wasn’t fooled.

Taking stock, I was relieved there were no broken bones. Muscles pummeled into jelly, yes, but nothing permanent. I glanced up at the two men who were arguing. Well, one of them was.

Corey Roberts, a good friend, was standing there, arms folded looking remarkably unrepentant, damn him. His wavy sandy hair was pulled back into a short, stubby ponytail. Without it to distract you, his lean features were shown in full relief. As a young guy, he’d had the boyish looks that were the bane of anyone trying to look tough in the private security sector. Now, his face was pleasantly seamed, looking like it was better suited for the Montana ranges than the more urban setting of Seattle.

He wore loose-fitting sweats and t-shirt over his long, lean frame. Muscles corded on his arms as he kept them still, only his face showing irritation as he endured the abuse being heaped on him.

Hector Ramirez, my oldest and dearest friend, stood in front of him, all five foot ten of Latin fury. Gone was the suave and debonair Assistant Commissioner from Las Vegas that could charm mayors and prison inmates with equal ease. Right now, he was just pissed off.

Corey shot me a long-suffering glance. He didn’t roll his eyes, but only because we both knew it would further infuriate Hector to the point where he might take a swing. Bennett.

Right. I should do something about this. Grimacing at the pain in my chest and back, I continued to roll until I stood, feet splayed to keep my balance. Hector, its okay. He knows what he’s doing.

Hector turned his head only enough to catch me out of the corner of his eye. Oh, he was pissed, all right. Enough, that he wasn’t taking his attention off of Corey, not for a second. But his shoulders loosened fractionally when he saw me standing. He turned his attention back to Corey. What the hell were you thinking?

He’ll be okay, Corey repeated. Keeping his voice patient, "We’ve been training for months. I know what I’m doing and what he can take.

"How can he learn anything when he can’t even see straight because you through him into a wall." Hector demanded, hotly.

I coughed, getting his attention again. I can’t rely only on my strength and speed, Hector. Not any more. I have to know how to handle whatever is thrown at me, even if it’s more than I’m used to. I said, echoing Corey’s words. I added, Especially if it’s more than I’m used to. I don’t have a corporate health plan or their lawyers to keep my healthy and whole from what’s out there.

The world Hector knew consisted of those he was sworn to protect; the presumed-innocent-until-proven-guilty citizens and the other guys; the worst of which were insane druggies, megalomaniacal cartels lords, murderers, thieves and general riff-raff.

My world included trolls, pucks, werewolves and all matter of strange beasties I’ve come to know in the last few months. I couldn’t very well say that last because Hector wasn’t ‘in the know.’ Like the majority of the world’s population, he was blissfully ignorant of what waited in the shadows.

If he knew what was really out there, he’d be throwing me into walls, too.

I felt a small hand grasp mine. I looked down at Claudia’s unhappy face. Something shifted in Corey’s eyes, a bit of unease as he realized what he had done in front of the kid. We kept the more intense workouts for the times we knew she wasn’t around. The kid had seen enough traumas without having to have her witness it in her own home. She wasn’t supposed to be home.

I tugged one end of a strand of her dyed black hair, noting it needed another trimming. God, it grew so fast. So did she. I swear, in the last four months she’d grown another few inches. I’m okay, kid. My smile, this time, was decidedly easier.

She returned it before glaring mutinously at Corey. If she had the nerve, she’d have kicked him with her kid-sized steel-toed boots. She was still in her Goth phase, needing to project an air of toughness that gave her some small sense of security.

I tugged her hair again, getting her attention. You’re supposed to be in school.

It’s only a half day, today. Teacher conference.

Damn, how many days off do kids have these days? I guess I’d forgotten to check the calendar. Again.

Rolling my shoulders, I forced a grin at Corey. I’m getting better. I lasted all of five minutes this time. And before you laugh, I’ve seen him take on a full-grown hill giant. Seriously. I was doing much better.

Corey grunted. You’re improving. You’re still thinking only defense. Which is good when we were protecting clients. But that won’t work in every situation here. He shrugged the lesson off. We can talk about it later. I need to take off. He pointedly did not look at Hector, not wanting to prod the man any further. He jutted a chin at Claudia. Go get your bag. I can drop you off at school on my way into town.

Claudia stared with rebellious eyes, debating whether to argue with him. Four months ago, the kid was sweet and obedient. The perfect child. Part of it was fear that the foster system would take her away. Part of it was fear that Zoe or I would send her away. Whatever the reason, fear played a big part of it. She drove me crazy.

Now she was glaring hotly, ready to start taking us on. I was so proud.

I placed a hand on top of her head, clamping lightly. I turned her face to the door. Go get your bag. Go to school. I ordered.

She wasn’t quite up to rebelling against me, yet. I give it another three months. With a dark look at Corey, she stomped out of the practice area to head to her room.

Corey and I exchanged glances. He shrugged, I’ll make it right with her. The unspoken order was that I make it right with Hector. He had the easier deal. I nodded. With remarkable nonchalance, Corey sauntered off with a general reminder, The deadline for the next batch of tests is coming up. You’ll want to make sure you’re signed up for them.

Crap. Getting a private investigator’s license was a pain in the ass. I was sorely tired of the tests. The studying wasn’t too bad. I didn’t mind learning stuff, but man some of the tests were brutal.

Hector was still standing there, temper lighting his eyes. What the hell are you training for, Bennett?

I grabbed a towel and used it to mop the sweat from my hair. I’ve always tried to keep in shape. I just need to stay at the top of my game. I can’t do that if everyone takes it easy on me. You should know better.

He pointedly looked at my chest. I glanced down. The dirt from Corey’s size eleven shoes had stuck to the sweat of my own t-shirt, forming an almost imperfect impression of his foot. Yeah, that had hurt. A lot.

Grudgingly, I amended, Granted, it probably looked and sounded a lot worse than it was. But, I’m standing, right? No broken bones. No need for ambulances or EMTs.

He frowned, unconvinced. His heavy black eyebrows lowered. ‘I’ve seen gangs take each other on. They were all warm and cuddly next to what I just watched. You’re no longer a bodyguard. And, being a P.I. isn’t usually a life-and-death occupation. So, why did you two have to go at each other like that? He paused, and asked Is there something going on that I should know about?"

Lord knows, I wanted to tell him. But how do you explain ghouls, vampires, dwarves and chupacabra to the uninitiated? The vast majority of humans know bits and pieces of the world hidden from plain sight through tall tales, legends and folklore. But they didn’t really believe in what lived in the shadows, in a world that existed right alongside their bright lives.

I hedged, Last year I ran into a gang while I was in the middle of an investigation. There was a bit of a tussle. Maybe that spooked me a bit to try and keep in shape. Which was true, strictly speaking. What I didn’t mention was that I had taken on a band of ghouls

He mulled that over, frowning. Seattle was known for having an unusually high level of gang activity. But word has it that most have left or killed each other off.

Which was mostly true. Many had left and, thankfully, still hadn’t returned. Many had died, too, but what was left out was that this was the result of a crazy man who’d gotten a hold of some deadly sorcerer’s artifacts and used said items to power to absorb their souls, life essences, whatever, to build his own power base and fortune. He hadn’t met a pleasant ending. It had left a power vacuum that few had ventured to fill as of yet.

Hector nodded at the arm that I used to brush the dirt from my shirt. My left forearm bore the starburst scar I’d gotten from the lightning attack at the final showdown with the aforementioned crazy man, Torres. Hector didn’t quite allow himself to call attention to the fine scar that raked the side of my face from cheekbone to jaw. I was lucky. The attack had missed the eye and there was enough healing magic available that I didn’t look far worse.

Changing the subject, I turned to the corridor. Let me take a shower. Then you can show me why you came all the way up here.

He hesitated, and then nodded, willing to give me the time and space to decide when I was going to tell him the truth. We left the room. Hector went downstairs while I ducked through my office to my bedroom.

Uncomfortably, I mulled over the situation. Hector was a long-time friend. My oldest friend, to be honest. I have a hard time, on the best of days, making friends. I didn’t have many of them and I valued them highly. I was unhappily aware that a lot of my life was now hidden from my friend and I knew that eventually the strain of living two separate lives would more than likely destroy something I valued.

Oh, I could have told him about it all. One trip to The Pier that was situated right next to the Fish Market, and he’d be convinced. Once you get a good look at your first jackalope, pixie or ogre, you can’t go back to pretending its all fiction. Not without a serious penchant for denial or some hardcore drugs. I was pretty sure Hector could handle knowing about it, eventually.

But, if he learned about that other world that existed along side his safe reality, he’d also eventually hear something about me. I wasn’t so sanguine about that.

I’d spent the majority of my life believing I was some sort of freak. Childhood psychologists painted me as having an unusually, and macabre, imagination. Those assessments invariably shifted to schizophrenia and eventually I was labeled psychotic, some say with sociopathic tendencies. Years of labeling did not make me open up to people.

And for a long time I believed all that they told me. I existed every day, knowing it might be the one where I slipped that last cog and sunk into a complete psychotic break and insanity. I’d given up any hope of a wife and family. How could I do otherwise? I mean vows like ‘until death do us part’ I’m okay with. The vows are kind of vague when dealing with crazy.

Getting back to the topic on hand, I see the past. I don’t see ghosts, nor do I finish up last requests or relay their last words. Instead, I see past events, almost always where people have died. I’ve seen more than my share of stuff like murder, torture and endless historic battles. As far as I can tell there isn’t any rhyme or reason for why one event lingered and another didn’t. I’ve come across a street corner where a mugging went wrong and witnessed the death of the mark. I’ve gone to battlefields where thousands fell and felt nothing unusual.

I’ve spent years deliberately seeking out places, trying to come to terms of why these particular events remain. I call them Memories, the memories of a place and time. The closest I’ve come to any explanation is that somehow the final act, be it a killing by one or by and army, had to be profound in some way. I horrible betrayal, a deep regret, an emotion so extreme, it imprinted the event where I can read it.

It would explain why every battle or murder wasn’t evident. For many, the battles were expected, along with winning or losing. Custer’s last stand didn’t come as a shock to the soldiers inside; they knew the score and their chances. Perhaps there was a level of resignation that allowed them to pass on without leaving a trace. But, for the Sand Creek Massacre, where a peaceful village was devastated by the unprovoked attack from a neighboring fort, it might have been the shock and betrayal that left the grisly footprint for others to view.

Now, seeing all this is probably enough for most people. I mean, except for less than a handful of truly exultant events, it’s almost always involved someone dying, and where’s the fun in that? But no, the universe is a dark and twisted place and I have its personal attention. You see, I don’t just get the Technicolor version, I also have to re-live it all, through the emotions of the players. I get to feel the emotions and pain of the players, victimizers and victims alike.

I’d spent years believing the psychologists were all correct. The outlook for my future consisted on either having a complete psychotic break or ending up drooling over my straitjacket in a padded cell. That all changed when I was in high school. There, during one interminable session, the psychologist got sloppy and left the room.

Curiosity abounded and I chanced a peek at her notes. ‘Research shows current recollection as historical fact of 1892. Determine why subject is internalizing actual events."

After the initial shock of seeing those words, I did a lot of research and found a proof for more than a few memories in dusty archives. I realized the truth; I wasn’t crazy so much as psychic.

It was only marginally better. I mean it wasn’t as if I could tell anyone, or have them believe me. I was already, barely, able to keep from being medicated all the time. Knowing the truth didn’t make my life easier. It actually would have been easier knowing I was insane.

And, if you’re wondering why I wasn’t bug-nuts from watching all the death and mayhem, there is the recent revelations that I’m still coming to terms with. According to a mummy, Brousilliard, who currently resides in New Orleans, I am of the Dísír, a descendent of some Viking warrior (or a Viking wheelwright, for all I knew) and a Death Maiden (read Valkyrie) that was charged to take half the souls of the slain to either Valhalla, Odin’s hall, or to Folvangr, Freya’s half of the hereafter.

Their legacy of taking the souls from a battle field is what lends me to see the past events. If that doesn’t make sense to you, join the club. But, there you have it.

Now, how did you explain all that to anyone, much less a friend? Psychics are viewed as either frauds or kindly, slightly weird people. You can believe in, or mocked them, as your inclination allows.

Up until a short time ago, I’d never met anyone with ‘real’ psychic ability. Or I was in my own version of denial, take your pick. But I have seen the world that is hidden to most people and I can’t really deny that I belong more to that world than the conventional one.

I am grateful there are people who know what I can do, what I am. Zoe, the love of my life. Corey. To some extent, I think Claudia’s figured out some of it. I’d Witnessed her mother’s death. She’d been there as it actually occurred and survived. She is a smart kid. With all she’d seen, she knew there was a bit more to me.

I sighed, stepping into the shower and letting the hot water sluice sweat from my skin. I’m not fond of hiding from myself. I had to admit I was afraid. Afraid of seeing Hector’s eyes change as he looked at me. Afraid of losing that connection, when there were too few in my life.

With him living in Las Vegas, it was easier to avoid the issue. I visited him and his mother from time to time and it was easy to skirt around the oddities of my life. Even then, I was uncomfortably aware that more and more of my life was something I couldn’t speak about. It could be ignored in the short term.

But he was here and I don’t think it’s for a short vacation. It was going to be much harder to keep hidden all the secrets in my life.

Chapter 2

I looked at a lost soul.

Louis Keeling stared out at me. Tall and lanky, he stood hip-shot on the deck of a boat, keeping his balance with one hand confidently grasping the mast line. The wind blew thin hair, wet with sea spray, awry. Bright eyes laughed from a remarkably homely face. He looked like someone crossed Lincoln, Jimmy Stewart and a scarecrow into one ungainly but surprisingly appealing person.

I set the photo down on my marble-topped desk. Idly, I traced the veins with fingertips as I worked out what to say. You know I’m not licensed yet. A missing person case like this is problematic at the best of times. I don’t’ have a specialty yet, so I don’t know if I can do this kind of job right. I could make things worse.

Hector just watched me. Now that his temper had cooled, he was focused on the matter at hand. He sipped his coffee, considering me.

I shifted, adjusting my tie a notch. Whereas he was wearing his favored jeans and t-shirt, my armor was usually a suit. They suited (ha) me. For one thing, I didn’t have to wonder if all the parts were coordinated. I’m completely color-blind. You could put me in purple pants with a phosphorescent green shirt and I wouldn’t know the difference. Believe you me, it’s easy to dress in a suit.

The other reason I like them is that it allowed me to blend in. Being different all my life, I was the target of many a childhood bully. I’d spent more of my formative years running away from fights, or getting pounded into the ground. Once I started coming into my strength, I worked hard to be as fit and strong as I could. There’s no sense in modesty; I am ripped. If I have a muscle, I worked it hard. It came in handy when working private security.

But, looking like a thug, however nondescript I thought of my features, wasn’t always a benefit. Wearing a suit allowed me to downplay the threat I could represent. Depending on the situation, I could be any faceless businessman in a crowd, or some muscle in your face.

Hector took another sip. I know I have nothing to work with here. Nothing I could take to the local police. Before I asked, he added, Yes, I’ve asked around. A couple of detectives are going to look into it, as a professional favor. But we both know they’ll have more urgent cases with more tangible leads.

When I didn’t respond, he sighed. I know what I’m bringing you is crap for proof. But my gut is saying something is off.

I have a great respect for your gut. I did. He had fantastic instincts. I turned to the files on the flash drive he’d given me. I’ll admit this does look odd. A structural engineer relocates to Seattle and disappears after only two weeks on the job. He’s got a doctorate, so giving up easily isn’t a habit. Even if he were a complete flake, two weeks seems hardly enough time to give a new job and home a chance before writing it off as a bad deal.

Hector leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees. "I spoke to him the day before he went missing. He was distracted, but