The Missing Link

By Melissa Barker-Simpson

James Pearson is a man with a secret, a secret he buried so deep he hoped it would never see the light of day. Until a series of events forces his hand and he learns that nobody can hide forever.

The catalyst for change comes in the form of an interpreter who is recovering from a personal tragedy. Laura Kane is about to discover that nothing in her life is what it seems. She is at a crossroads, and she must choose wisely. Otherwise, she could lose the one thing she treasures the most, her relationship with lifelong friend, Nicholas Carey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Barker-Simpson
• Release date: Feb 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311475251

Melissa Barker-Simpson

I've been writing since, well...since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. I often look back on those earlier stories, and apart from laughing at the heavy-handed drama, or cringing at my inexperience, I am reminded that I have always lived in other worlds. My first novel was published in 2008, and I love nothing more than working on a new project. The voices inside my head invariably pull me in different directions, so although I try to work on one thing at a time, those who know me would tell you it doesn't always work! I have a full-time job which, though does not involve writing per se, incorporates my love of language. As a British Sign Language Interpreter, I get to translate information between two languages which is (mostly) fun. I have two beautiful daughters who bring me great joy. They also keep me grounded, because otherwise I would have my head in the clouds permanently!

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The Missing Link

Copyright 2016 Melissa Barker-Simpson

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

To absent friends:

Adrian, the best leading man anyone could wish for, and Cath, for always being there.

I miss you.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Table of Contents

Dedication

Preface

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

About the Author

Other Books by Melissa Barker-Simpson

Connect with Melissa Barker-Simpson

PREFACE

James thrashed wildly across the bed, gripped by a nightmare so powerful he was no longer in control.

Something cold and slick coated his body, squeezing the life out of him. In that moment, he felt nothing but the growing pressure, not even his own skin.

Then sensation tore through him. The air backing up in his lungs burned across his chest. It spread as quickly as the fear and panic, because he couldn’t breathe. He could barely even move.

The darkness was everywhere. It closed around him like a giant fist, sealing off the last of his hope.

The hard mattress beneath him became the stone cold ground. His sheet, like a silken snake, wound itself around him, restricting his movement.

He knew if he gave in to the panic, all would be lost, and though the sharp edge of his fear was like a blade through his heart, he fought to control it.

This valiant effort to hold himself still was evident in the taut contours of his body. His muscles strained until his arms broke free of their bonds and shot into the air, protecting him from something far greater than silk.

In one world, his hands searched desperately for escape, scrambling in the dark confines of his nightmare. In the other, he was a drowning man, praying for solid ground.

Then, he stilled. The horror marring his handsome features vanished; leaving a look of serenity some would have called peace.

He opened his eyes and watched the woman shimmer before him, her image a remnant of the dream. She faded until he could no longer see her.

Reluctant to let her go, James stumbled out of bed. He grabbed his laptop, pulled up a document, and began to type.

Jim’s Blog

I had the dream again.

It was worse than before. The physical element alone was enough sensory recall to last me a lifetime.

It felt so real I still have a dull ache in my chest, though that could be down to her - my very own dream-catcher. This time she sucked me out of the nightmare and left me floundering in the aftermath.

How can you long for someone you’ve never met?

The real question is - who is she? Why does she appear only in my nightmares? A shield against the horror of being trapped in the dark.

There’s something I’m missing, some small detail I’ve overlooked. But every time I try to connect the dots, she’s all I see. My chest feels tight just thinking of her; I doubt any man could look at her without their heart contracting a little.

He had been dreaming of her for weeks, and from the very first, he was hooked. He even saw her in his waking hours. He ached for her. The nightmares left their toll on his system, but they were worth it to catch a glimpse of her. It didn't make any sense. None of it made sense.

His hand hovered over the delete button. He had little new to say, and that meant only one thing; he could either remove the entry or commit and share the one thing he'd been avoiding for weeks.

The blog had a strong following; faithful readers interested in his extra sensory abilities, even more so because those abilities didn't normally lend to dreams.

He had collected a lot of data over the years, though most of his knowledge came from one source; Barry was his brother in arms, his walking encyclopaedia on all things. The fact he had an eidetic memory didn't hurt, but it was Barry's own experiences that had proved invaluable.

James' dreams were emphatic, which made sense since he was sensitive to the energies around him. Barry's were slightly different and tended towards the prophetic or telepathic, since he often shared another person's thoughts in the dream world.

James had only experienced that type of dream once, and he still felt the scars.

Even before the idea had fully formed, his hands were moving across the keyboard again. He'd made the decision to share Jacob with his readers, and there was no time like the present.

I haven't dreamt this way since I was a child, and a friend showed me the freedom of his death. I wish now that the messages were as strong as that night, though it's hardly surprising a part of me still wants to hide. I punished myself for not being able to save him, burying my abilities so deep I'm surprised they resurfaced at all.

It never occurred to me that I couldn’t help. What's the point in these connections if not to make a difference?

Even now, years later, I remember what it was like to feel the darkness living inside him, the desolate, aching emptiness sucking away at his strength. I feel that darkness again, only this time the origin is unclear, and that scares me most of all.

Jacob Spear had been the closest thing he'd had to a best friend in college. James had feared him almost as much as he'd respected him.

When Jacob had taken his own life, he'd sealed both their fates. Knowing and recognising the darkness in his friend, and not taking steps to do anything about it, gave James the reason he was looking for to deny the connection.

For a long time he wouldn't even allow himself to grieve, because when people asked themselves why such a fun-loving boy would take his own life, James knew the answer; he’d seen beyond the physical.

It took a conscious effort, but he pushed Jacob from his mind and allowed his fingers to do the talking. He described the messages he had received days before the dreams began, and for the first time, shared the letter he carried with him wherever he went.

His abilities had evolved over the years. A connection could take place in a number of ways; he could pick up a strong emotion just by passing someone on the street.

Then there were the times it began with an affiliation through writing, ironic considering his flair for the written word.

There was no way of knowing when a connection would take place, or why. He was simply a conduit, a vessel for those who had something to impart.

This time the message was too personal, too close to home, and since the dreams felt part of the whole, he had been wrestling with it and his conscience for weeks.

It took him ten minutes to check through his entry, and even longer to pluck up the courage to post it.

For the first time in days, the saviour of his dreams had not dominated the text. She was still in his mind. He didn't need to close his eyes to conjure her image; all that flowing ebony hair against pale skin.

He hadn't missed the symbolism. Her very presence was a physical representation of light and dark. It was the reason Barry had taken to calling her Snow White.

She was important. He knew that with absolute certainty. He simply had to find out how.

CHAPTER ONE

James pulled his car onto the wasteland behind O’Leary’s. Despite its lack of obvious charm, the place was a popular drinking hole. If he had to say why people returned night after night, he would opt for the obvious reasons – the beer was cheap and the food almost edible.

He paused at the door to prepare himself for entering a crowded room. He could already feel the excess energy reaching out to him. The emotion was sharp and wilful, and it threatened his control.

When he pushed through, he could feel the interest in the air. It would have been easier if he had blended in with the crowd, but his presence set him apart. He was a tall man, with long limbs and a crop of fair hair he often neglected to cut.

Being an identical twin, he was used to a certain amount of scrutiny. His sister, Danielle, enjoyed the attention, where he wanted only to avoid it. So much open curiosity made it harder to block the energy swirling around the room.

It was easier to concentrate on the things he could see, like the worn furniture or poor lighting and scarred floors.

Regardless of his mood, O'Leary's could deliver: the dark and desolate; open and friendly; or quiet and mysterious. Tonight James walked straight to the bar.

The techniques he used to block unwanted energy did not always work. He was feeling something now and didn’t have a taste for it; the emotion was dark, sinister even.

It made his head hurt - the sheer effort to suppress it. He tried focusing on the television above the bar, but it didn’t hold his attention for long. Nothing did, so he perched on a bar stool and let it be. He sat still and allowed the darkness to settle.

To anyone else he looked like a man deep in thought, perhaps even a little lonely, staring as he was, into his glass.

The beer had appeared almost as soon as he sat down – the benefits of being a regular. But it wasn’t melancholy he felt as he looked into the fine amber liquid, it was resentment.

It wasn’t always possible to separate his emotions from the ones he picked up, so at first he thought the resentment was his. He hadn’t asked for the connection, and the fact it was strong enough to break through his barriers was bad enough. But the lack of clarity or purpose made him want to hurl the glass across the bar.

He sucked in a shocked breath at the violence filling his head. The thoughts clearly belonged to someone else, as did the bitterness filling his throat.

Luckily, he didn’t have time to dwell on it because a hand clamped around his shoulder and the darkness evaporated like mist, chased away by a new energy – one he welcomed.

Do you realise how sad you look, nursing that beer like it’s your only friend? Barry said.

Bite me!

Nice.

James turned to look at him and felt his face crack a grin. He was wearing a dark t-shirt over a long-sleeved top, faded jeans, and baseball boots. His hair, which shone with the midnight black of his Irish roots, had a deceptively slept-in look. But it was the glasses, dark and bold, which polished off the effect.

What did you come as? he asked, fighting to control the grin. "I can’t decide if you’re undercover or on your way to a fancy dress party.

At least I didn’t get dressed in the dark. Barry held up two fingers to the barman.

James looked down at his threads. Sure, his jeans were lived in, but they had a certain style. The smile won out, and when he looked at Barry again he realised they were both grinning like idiots.

After ten years of friendship they had the mockery down to a fine art. It was a sport they were both actively involved in. As was the third member of their group, Tony Jacobs, a man often late for his own party.

They had met at a rundown magazine that should have gone belly up, but was actually stronger than ever, thanks to a loyal readership. Out of respect, they still committed a day each week. As freelance writers, James and Barry had that luxury, but Tony contributed the most. His skills behind the lens were highly respected, and one of the publication's success stories.

Barry flicked his fingers in front of James’ face, bringing him back. The jolt reminded him of his earlier connection. He found it curious he could no longer detect even an echo of the sinister energy.

He glanced around, trying to figure out if anyone was missing.

Tony can’t make it tonight. He’s packing for the trip, Barry said, following his gaze.

James nodded vaguely. Their friend was flying to Iraq that evening on a special assignment.

He didn’t want a long, drawn out goodbye. We all know how emotional you get.

The sound James made was only halfway to a laugh.

It was clear when he met Barry’s gaze he had noticed his distraction. He winked conspiringly and, whether consciously or not, wiggled his fingers in an exaggerated fashion. You feeling the vibe?

He smirked. Not anymore, thanks to you. Even your energy is too rich for some people’s blood.

Barry raised one eyebrow above the novelty glasses. So that’s what you were doing when I walked in. You were concentrating so hard, at one point I swear I saw grey matter leaking out of your ears. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to pay for the drinks. I thought you’d found a way to tune out?

Yeah, all I have to do is push this button right here. James held up his wrist to indicate the stylish watch. And…puff, all gone.

I should do something with that for your sarcasm alone. But I’ll be the better man and let it go.

James conceded with a nod. It was a sneaky bastard - really dug its teeth in.

You need to lighten up, my friend, and enjoy the trip. Personally, I get a kick out of imagining you field this much energy. He bobbed from side to side on the balls of his feet. I’m happy. I’m sad. No. I’m mad. Happy. Sad. Mad. Sad. He looked like a fool, but it had never stopped him before.

I’m so glad I entertain you.

Okay, okay, I'm sorry.

Barry placed a hand on his shoulder, surprising him with the uncharacteristic gesture. James counted on him to play the wisecracking sidekick. He did it so well.

Those dreams of yours have you wound tighter than that cheap watch you wave around. What gives with the new letter?

So you're up to date with the blog? James replied, fumbling in his pocket for the offending item.

If by up to date you mean did I read your latest rambling, then yeah. Barry took a long drink. And whilst we’re on the subject. Can I state again for the record, the name isn’t as funny as you think.

You wouldn’t know funny if it stimulated your humerus. It’s a cool science fiction reference, and if it makes me a geek, so be it.

"That you're a geek is indisputable, and yet you still couldn't pull off Captain, let alone Kirk. He ignored the wounded look. My point is… the association is so weak I struggle to get it, and I’m a genius."

Let it go, James said, unconcerned by the rant.

"The Captain's log, or personal log if you will, was never referred to as-"

James held up a hand. If it means something to me, what's the harm?

It's illogical.

"Okay, Spock!" he grinned.

Barry's face morphed into his best imitation of the Vulcan. The letter, Jim.

James inclined his head to show respect for the impression as he handed it over. It’s for Danielle.

Jesus. You weren't kidding when you said it was close to home. How've you managed to keep that in for so long?

When James only shrugged, Barry glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand and scanned the contents in silence.

Dear Danielle

I sincerely hope this letter reaches you. It’s the only way I can fix things. I need your help. My Adrian is in trouble and I