Third Eye

By L Hunter

Forensic Pathologist Adelaide Paige has the picture perfect life.
She has the perfect fiancé, the perfect job, the perfect house. Life should be bliss.
When a gruesome double murder of a mother and child hits close to home, for Addy a shocking revelation has her rethinking her decision about wanting to start a family.
Killian has always dreamed of becoming a father.
But when he discovers that the love of his life may die giving birth, he doesn’t know what to do.
In the emotional final episode of the Adelaide Paige Saga, will Addy and Killian finally have their happy ever after? Or is Addy’s life doomed to end on a cliffhanger.

Life is too short when you can see the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L Hunter
• Release date: May 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310037818

L Hunter

Professor Lawrance Hunter, Divisional Fellow (Manufacturing and Materials Technology) CSIR and Head of the post-graduate Department of Textile Science of the University of Port Elizabeth, South Africa, has been involved in textile R&D for almost 40 years and has published many papers at conferences and in journals. He was awarded the Textile Institute Warner Memorial Medal for his outstanding contribution to textile science and technology.

Book preview

Chapter 1

In the six months since Killian’s mother showed me the vision on her deathbed, the one where I lay dying while giving birth, I had sworn off kids.

You would think if your mother showed your future wife that she would die if she ever had a baby, you wouldn’t want kids either. But nope. Killian still wants kids.

My nose catches the scent of my favorite life elixir—coffee.

Mornin’, baby. I sit up, putting a pillow behind my back and take the cup from Killian’s hand.

Thanks, I croak, still half asleep.

Are you all right? he asks, sitting on the side of the mattress. It dips under his weight.

Yeah, fine.

This had been our routine for the past six months. I will wake up in a daze after a long night of tossing and turning, and Killian will bring me coffee and ask if I’m okay.

It is only an act. He knows I’m not okay. He can tell I don’t want to talk about it—the elephant in the room. I can tell he wants to push it, but he holds back.

This is what our relationship has boiled down to—I love him, he loves me, but I don’t know how long it can last on the journey it’s on. It is a train going way too fast on a dead-end track. It can only end one way.

Each morning I leave to go to the lab, even if there’s no work. I simply don’t want to be at home to face it.

After I down the coffee Killian made me, the exact way I like it—strong with lots of milk and no sugar, I go into the bathroom and have a shower.

I want to get to the lab to see if there is anything I can do. I’m sure there is an intern resume to look at or a report to write.

Things have gotten busy since I became head Pathologist and a professor at the local college. I had barely finished my studies myself, but after rave reviews from the NYPD and even Doctor Channing, they had promoted me and insisted I mentor forensic science students.

When I come out of the bathroom, Killian is in the kitchen. He has a travel mug in his hand. As soon as he hears the bathroom door open, he looks up and comes toward me.

Can we talk later? he asks.

I simply nod and hug him. He kisses my cheek and picks up his bag nearby. He looks back at me and gives me a small smile. Have a nice day. I’ll be at the pub for most of the day. I love you.

I love you. My voice comes out in almost a whisper, broken. I can hardly speak. Those three words are enough to shatter me. How can someone love you if they don’t support your decisions?

* * * * *

When I arrive at the lab ten minutes later, it is just how I imagine—busy.

Doctor Paige, would you take a look at my results, please? I have a feeling I’ve missed something.

Oh, yeah. Did I mention I’m now a doctor? I’m only twenty-six years old, barely old enough to be a professor let alone a doctor, but the glowing report from the NYPD had been sufficient to get me an honorary doctorate and graduate early. I’d rejected the offer numerous times, of course, but it wasn’t something I could just give back. It is mine whether I want it or not.

I have also had offers from various news stations for interviews and TV networks for show deals, but I turn them all down every time. Being a mentor to students and the owner of the lab is enough to keep me busy. Besides, I have no desire to be famous and have my ‘gift’ be made into a mockery.

I walk over to one of the students working in the lab today and peer over her shoulder at the computer screen. The students are learning how to analyze tissue samples and write a report of their findings.

It seems like you’ve included every part of the tissue analysis. You’re very thorough, but don’t forget I need percentages of all proteins found in the tissue and a photograph to back it up. It is not enough to just list the proteins.

The young student, a girl with a blonde bob, nodded and started typing. She is in the lab regularly and is usually very observant, hardly misses any details, so it strikes me as weird she didn’t include percentages in her report. I curse myself. I have to remember to praise the students when they do something right.

Good work, Bella. She brightens and her shoulders lift, which makes me feel better. I smile to myself and walk around to check the other students’ work.

Some have forgotten to photograph their tissue samples or have not cut the samples thin enough so they don’t fit on the microscope slide properly. So I make them do it again. When the class is over, I throw myself down in my office chair and let out a long breath as I massage my temples.

I only have two classes a day most days, but it was two too many sometimes. I don’t know how most teachers do it. Why did I take this job again? I decide to make myself a coffee before diving into marking student reports. As I get up off my chair and start to walk away, my phone vibrates wildly on the desk. I lunge before it takes a nosedive to the painted concrete floor.

Adelaide Paige, I state, pushing some papers aside to sit on the side of the desk.

Adelaide, it’s Detective Hamish Richards. How are you today?

Richards? You’re the Sheriff’s son from interstate?

Yes, ma’am. I am.

Hi, pleased to meet you. How may I help you, Detective Richards? I move the phone to my other ear. And please, call me Addy.

And you can call me Hamish. My father requested that you come out to the crime scene straight away. He told me about what you can do.

I pause. I’m still hesitant to talk about my gift to strangers, but this was Sheriff Richards’ son. Was he non-judgmental and accepting like his father?

Why does he think this may be my kind of case?

You’ll see when you get here. Something doesn’t add up, and we need you to help us fill in the blanks.

Chapter 2

Hamish Richards is a detective with the NYPD homicide unit. I had heard about him from his father, an older gentleman who is a sheriff in my local county in Connecticut.

Before getting off the phone with Hamish, I’d asked him to send me through details about the case so far, including directions to the crime scene. By the sound of things, I guess they want me to consult on the case using my physic abilities to find something they might have missed, or to see what no one else can. I prefer to use my gift that way, helping people solve a crime and getting justice for the deceased and their family. I hate people judging me and exploiting me.

The crime scene is in one of the rougher neighborhoods of the Bronx, New York. I had heard of the high crime rate in this area, so I wasn’t surprised.

I park my car beside the police tape and grab my gear. As a Forensic Pathologist, it is my job to collect samples from the crime scene for forensic analysis. And as a psychic forensic pathologist, my job is a little harder than that.

Adelaide, over here! My head is awash with all the possible scenarios that could be