Murder in Mind's Eye

By Barbara Bretana

Cale Snowdon is a telepath and a clairvoyant although it did not help his family from encountering a serial killer who murdered all of them except him. He is found and taken alive to be used as the Major's personal fortune teller, kept in a house for two years before he is rescued by another psychic named Illusion. She saves him, helps him cope and falls in love. Cale's twin daughters are like him, and the Major is determined to add them to his collection. Cale gives himself up so he can save his family's lives. How far would you go to do what had to be done to rescue your kids?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Bretana
• Release date: Mar 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311739667

Barbara Bretana

I've been writing and reading since the age of three. Anyone who knows me knows I'm nuts about horses, reading, dogs and painting. Went to school in Vermont, Castleton State and Pratt/Phoenix School of Design and found out college wasn't for me. Worked with Developmentally Disabled and loved it. Went back to school for my CNA license and decided to try writing for a career as I keep breaking things like my rotator cuff, discs and whatnot. Getting bucked off your horse, well, I don't bounce like I used to. I'm the one in the brown coat.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I walked into town around the circle admiring the plantings of tulips in the center island and the ornate light poles of brass with nylon banners that welcome spring. Walking across the bridge spanning a narrow green creek moving sluggishly along, I came to the main street and crossroads where I passed the post office, the bank and turned the corner onto Main Street which had been built in the 1800s. I saw brick Victorians rising three stories high. The Town Theater, library and pharmacy were on one side of the street and on the other was the historic tavern and restaurant, hardware store, diner and antique shop. I saw no sign of a police station and I wondered if the town was too small for one. The railroad tracks went straight ahead through the light and I stood on a corner, rolled my pack off my back to land at my feet as I contemplated the tenor of the town. The streetlights were on but only in the downtown area if you could call the two blocks a downtown.

I was tired. I had walked on the interstate for two days without stopping in any of the small towns I’d seen from the shoulders. I was also hungry but I knew I couldn’t do anything about that since it was past midnight and in these small towns everything closed after 9 PM.

There were long shadows everywhere like shy friends that hung back. Wooden half barrels lined both sides of the street and were planted with pink, purple and white petunias that trailed over the edges of the barrels. I glanced around but spotted no benches laid out for weary strollers. Not even in the park across the street. What it did have was a gazebo in white and green next to a small monument with brass plaques commemorating their war dead. New flags were planted neatly in a row below the marble slabs. I knew why I had been called to this town and I hoped this time I could stop it before it began.

Headlights came down the roads, saw me and paused. I didn’t have to search for the cops, they had found me. I stood still while the officer got out of his car and approached me with one hand on his gun belt and the other holding a flashlight on my face.

What are you doing out this late at night? He asked. Can I see some ID?

My name is Cale Snowdon, I answered politely. I’m here about the murders.

Murders? What murders? His voice was sharp and suspicious.

I took a step back so that I could look at him without the glare of the flashlight in my eyes. I saw a tall man with dark hair and eyes, dimpled chin and strong regular features. He was older than I was but not old enough to be Chief of Police even in a small town like this.

There’s going to be a series of murders here.

How do you know that? He took a step closer and frisked me, kicking my bag out of my reach. With one hand, he opened it, pawed blindly through my clothes and books, finding nothing of interest until he got to my notebook with the newspaper clippings. I made no effort to resist him only stood quietly while he read them quickly.

These are about you. He looked up at me, comparing the photos of the 15-year-old with black hair, flat violet eyes and slim build.

Yes, I answered shortly. I waited for him to make up his mind and he did so quickly.

You have somewhere to stay? Are you visiting someone?

I shook my head. I was going on to the motel for the rest of the night. Or pitch my tent in the campground by the creek.

They don’t allow tents. Only RVs. And the motel is another 2 miles. I can give you a lift or you can stay at the police station. We have an empty cell, if you don’t mind bars.

No, I don’t mind them. If they’re open. He picked up my bag. I knew he made the offer because he wanted to keep an eye on me. I knew he’d read the headline that read ‘FBI uses local psychic in triple murders’.

He threw my stuff in the back seat of his cruiser and gestured for me to get in front. I hesitated, and then slid into the seat which smelled of stale cigarette smoke, old vomit and wet dog. I tried not to touch anything but he told me to put on my seatbelt and when I did, images of a hundred different people assailed me. I tried to shut them out and succeeded with the worst ones but the everyday patterns of his daily routines left me blind and shaking.

His touch roused me. With rough hands, he shook me until my eyes came back into focus and I could actually see his worried face. You prone to seizures? Do I need to call the EMTs?

I’m okay. Just give me a minute. I pushed his hands away, it was easier when he wasn’t touching me.

Who are you, Cale Snowdon?

I’m not the person in those newspapers. I’m not a murderer or a murder junkie. I’m just someone who sometimes sees people die before they do. I saw woman being murdered near here and her body dumped in a gravel pit under a big flag.

What woman?

I don’t know her name. Drugs? Just something to do with drugs. And then I see another man. A man who farms. No, raises…goats.

How do they die?

I shuddered and folded my hands in my lap. The woman is electrocuted in her bathtub, the man is beaten to death with deer antlers.

That’s bizarre. When is this supposed to happen? He put the cruiser into gear and drove off, back the way I had come over the railroad tracks and turned left. We passed several huge, refinished Victorian homes none of them had lights on.

I don’t know, I sighed. Just…sometime soon.

Why should I believe you and not think you’re some kind of nut? Hell, you are some kind of nut.

Your name is Stephen Rule. People always call you Steve, the nickname you had in high school was the ‘Golden Rule’. You played football and did archery. You play the flute when you’re sad. You had a girlfriend named Sally and a dog named Azalea. You like to help little old ladies and you hate sexual predators, especially those in the church. You drive an old beat up green Jeep with a cloth top that you curse every winter. I ran out of breath.

You forgot to mention that I love my mother, he returned dryly.

Your mother’s dead. He gave me one of those looks I was well accustomed to and nodded to the white square brick building surrounded by chain-link.

Here’s the station. Come inside. He opened my door and waited for me to exit.

I hesitated before the locked doors with the intercom system and once inside, knew I could be deprived of my rights and my freedoms. It was not a feeling I liked but outside was equally dangerous. I followed him inside the brightly lit entrance hallway down to the booking office. He threw his hat at the desk and sat in the chair with a window behind him. Pulling out another chair with his booted foot, he nodded. Sit. I sat in the wooden chair. Say I believe you, what then?

I don’t know. I won’t know anything until it happens.

Then what good is it?

I wish I knew all the answers. I wish I knew why I glimpse parts of things instead of the whole picture. She wears a white suit. With boots and a mask.

Like a Doctor?

Sort of. No, not like a Doctor.

Come on. I’ll show you where you can sleep. He got up with a grunt and led me down the hallway to an office complete with a futon and a small bathroom. The door locks on your side. Sometimes, I spend the night here rather than go home. I’ll be down the hall if you want anything. Night.

Good night, I told him. He paused in the doorway as if he wanted to say something else and then slowly closed the door.

Chapter 2

Fresh brewed coffee teased my nose and I kicked off the coat I’d thrown over me during the night when I’d gotten cold. I opened the door and followed the smell to its source. Three people dressed in uniforms were standing around the coffee machine in the briefing room. The Chief was there, and he offered me a mug of black coffee. I added cream and sugar. Three sets of eyes studied me as only a law enforcement individual could.

This is Cale Snowdon, he introduced. I waited for him to say more but he didn’t. He let it hang out there without any explanation. Deputy Olson, Shelley, Oshai. Olson’s Sheriff Department, Shelley and Oshai are State Troopers. We’re a substation for both.

Hello, I said to the three. I took a sip of my coffee and nearly burned my tongue. It was the worst coffee I had ever drank and the three laughed at my face.

Chief’s coffee sucks, one said. Olson looked like a teenager with his clean good looks. Shelley was older, russet haired with no sideburns and a thin mustache. His eyes were pale blue. Oshai was faintly Oriental with a stiff brush cut and dark eyes. All three were about the same height; 5’11 to 6 foot, well-muscled and full of self-confidence.

Coffee sucks but it’s free, Rule retorted. And you bastards are too cheap to spend two bucks a cup at Dunkin’ Donuts.

Where you from? Olson asked me.

West. I was short. I didn’t like to remember where and how I’d started. Those memories were painful and disturbing. Which was odd because my memories only started a year or so ago.

He’s visiting me, Rule told them. We’ll be doing patrol later today. First, we’re going to breakfast. Any of you going to join us?

None of the three wanted to come, they finished their cups, picked up their hats, and left the room. I raised my eyebrows at Chief Rule. Well, do you think they’d like it if I told them I picked you up in town past midnight and that you’ve predicted several murders?

Since you put it that way.

I gasped. Felt like my body was on fire as I fell to the floor, writhing as if I’d been tasered. I felt water under my legs and back, felt the sides of the bathtub near my head and hands. I was on the carpeted floor in a bathroom, a green and white bathroom with a garden tub, double sinks, walk-in shower and skylight with daylight showing me the time of day. In the background, I could hear an urgent voice calling my name but it did not make any sense to me until hands gripped and shook me back to my present surroundings. I was lying on the floor of the police station and Chief Rule was holding me by the shoulders. My clothing was sopping wet and smelled of strawberry bubble bath. His face reflected shock.

It’s happening now, I murmured sadly. She’s undressed and in her tub when the killer threw in her laptop. She’s a…Pharmacist?

Who killed her?

I don’t know. I can’t see that. I saw only the hand that dropped the laptop into her bathwater. She had blonde hair but it’d come out of a bottle and she wore a rain hat over it, anyway. The hand was muscular; a man’s hand with heavy wrist bones and square nails on large fingers. I could see the individual hairs on his knuckles but not his face. Nor could I see his motivation. Why do you believe me? No one ever believes me. Half of them think I did it.

He shrugged and helped me to my feet. Are you hurt anywhere?

No. I feel what they feel but so far, it’s never been permanent.

Stay here. I’m going to call the pharmacy and see if Dany is in. She’s usually there by 7 AM.

He gave me a backward glance and then headed for his office phone. My hearing was extra acute and I could make sense of both sides of the conversation so when he came back with his news, I already knew that the lady in question was at her post and alive.

Maybe I got the pharmacist part wrong. Like I said, I see things but I don’t always interpret them right. Someone will find her before the days over.

And the man who’s beaten to death? The goat farmer? Do you know when?

Within the week. Before the spring festival.

Great. Now all I have to do is call up goat people and warn them to avoid deer. We have a dozen farms around here that raise goats. And sheep. Not to mention all the dairies.

I’m sorry I can’t be more specific. This isn’t an exact science. It’s not even a science. My granny called it mumbo-jumbo.

Well, come on. Let’s go get breakfast. You have any visible means of support?

If you mean a job, I said dryly. No. But I’m not destitute. I have money.

No point telling him I had picked the winning Lotto numbers on the largest jackpot ever recorded in the state of Texas. I followed him out to his cruiser and he drove downtown to the McDonald’s were he ordered a big breakfast and hot coffee. I ate light; sometimes my visions backfired on me causing major stomach upset where food sat uncomfortably. I was probably going to die from a bleeding ulcer if I lived long enough.

There was a small crowd in line as we picked up our trays and sat in one of the booths. Everyone stopped by to say hello to the Chief and give me curious sidelong glances. He finished the last bite of his biscuits slathered with grape jelly and asked me if I want to go on patrol with him. I shrugged. I had nothing better to do than wait around until things started happening. Picking up the trash for both trays, I dumped them in the garbage. An older woman with gray hair bumped into me.

Sorry, she grimaced and the impressions of her were sharp but fleeting.

Don’t go home, I told her. She turned around.

What? You talking to me? Her eyes bored into me.

Don’t go home. He’s waiting for you and he’s angry. He’ll hurt you. She stared at me, her mouth agape. She looked at Chief Rule and then back to me. She nearly ran out of McDonald’s.

That’s Mrs. Nesbitt. Her son abused her and put her in the hospital a few times. We thought he was gone. You say he’s waiting for her?

I nodded. He spoke into his radio hanging from his collar and told his deputy to swing by her house and escort her inside if she was there and only after he cleared it. The deputy came back that he was several miles away from her place and was on the way.

Fifteen minutes later, we got a report of breaking and entering with an intruder in the house, with a baseball bat but he had been subdued, handcuffed and was in custody. It was her son and there was an outstanding warrant on him for assault with a deadly weapon. His mother had ridden in 10 minutes later, stood there in shock and then started screaming at the top of her lungs.

He was quiet until we reached the cruiser and got in. Once again, he told me to buckle my seatbelt as he accelerated and we flew down the interstate.

I saw mountains on one side covered with fresh spring growth and pines, with long meadows of grass that stretched for miles. Cows dotted the verdant pastures like clumps of Oreo cookies and whipped cream. I saw a goat farm with a hand-lettered sign out in the pasture that read ‘BOER Meat Goats for Sale’. It produced no reaction in my sense and I saw that the Chief relaxed as we passed it without comment from me.

She’s a lab worker. In a Clean Room. She wears those suits, clean room attire. The words came out of nowhere and surprised both of us.

Where, dammit? We have lots of businesses within a hundred miles that have techs who work in clean rooms. There’s P&G, OSG, BAE, EIT, IBM, Lockheed. I’ve got friends and towns people who work at all of them.

I put my hand on the dashboard and braced myself. He was doing 80 down the four-lane highway when I told to him to stop and to his credit, he slammed on the brakes without asking why or questioning me. We fished tailed to a stop. A herd of thirty deer bolted out of the treed median in front of us, seconds after the car had come to a screeching halt. He wasn’t looking at them but at the huge American flag on the graveled hillside to our left. Weedy brush covered parts of the slope hiding it from our view. Large trees lined the edges of the hundred foot long slope. My fingers pointed up to the flag whipping in the slight breeze.

They ran because they smelled human. Dead human. My words were shaken. I opened the door, ran across the highway towards the hillside. Behind me, I heard the car making a turn and crossing over the lanes to the southbound side.

He stuck his head out the window and yelled. Get in. It’s miles over there the way you’re going. I know a shortcut. I jumped back into the front seat and he tore up the grass as he cut across the lanes of interstate

Chapter 3

The flagpole was as big around as a beer keg and rose a hundred feet into the air. The flag was equally as massive; it was every bit of forty feet long and twenty feet wide. Whipping back and forth, it made a sound like cracking leather. We scrambled up the slope with gravel sliding past our hands and feet as we struggled on the steep grade. Anyone who could’ve carried a dead body up that hill had to have been in great shape unless there was an easier way up from the backside where he could’ve thrown a body downhill.

The smell led us to her. That and the buzzing of a million flies. They came off her