Psychic Passion

By Sara Herrington

He could be successful, if his past would not haunt him...

After losing his family, job, and reputation in a small Alabama town, Detective Stephens becomes Birmingham's newest addition. The lonely detective is assigned a tough murder case and an even bossier partner. When he vocalizes his haunch that the string of crimes is the work of a serial killer, Stephens' partner and the police chief silence him. Hiding details from his partner, Stephens decides to investigate solo, but the closer he gets to the truth, the further away from solving the crime he seems. The sensual temptations of Stephens' past, ongoing conflict in his present and the uncertainty of his future tailspin into a thriller that's anything but predictable.

In the end, Stephens' inner demons will kill him, if the killer doesn't first!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456759285

Sara Herrington

(1971-current) Macon County, Alabama. Sara currently lives in Montgomery, Alabama where she continues to share her love for reading and writing at Alabama State University and local public schools through the teaching of Language Arts. She has dedicated seventeen years of her professional life in social service careers and of those years, she has spent seven years in public schools and higher learning institutions promoting academic achievement for all people. Sara received a baccalaureate degree from the University of Alabama at Birmingham (1993) in Political Science; Masters Degree from Alabama State University (2005) in English Education; Ed. S., degree from Alabama State University (2008); and currently pursuing her Ph.D., from Auburn University in Educational Leadership.

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© 2011 Sara Herrington. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 5/9/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-5927-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-5928-5 (e)

Printed in the United States of America

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011907488

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

This book is dedicated to my family: Justin, Fatima & Elijah. Thanks for believing in me and encouraging me to share this story with the world. Especially to my siblings: Carlos (Mike), and Angela; and, my brother Will (Kitima). Thanks to each of you for allowing me to be me and still loving me, regardless. And in honor of my parents, Will and Louise, who each has a story to tell.

I love you all!

Sara

Chapter I

REGARDLESS OF THIS FLIMSY ECONOMY, we never have to worry about a job, Petty Officer Neal stated sarcastically.

That’s for sure! Ennis chimed in.

Ah, man. Another day, another dollar, Jack replied, That’s how I see it.

But if we could get paid for what we do? Neal trailed off, looking to Jack for support.

Whoever does? I mean how do you calculate your worth for real, Neal? Jack snapped.

Well, one thing is for sure; the more the economy crashes, the more folks end up like this, Reginald concluded.

Dead? Jack asked Reginald.

Yeah. Dead.

Well, they really can have this mess! Reginald threw up his hands in protest. We make the case ---we do all the foot work and they, he said pointing to the detectives who were then approaching, they get all the credit."

Oh look. Here come the detectives.

Like always, Jack stated.

Look more like Hawaii Five O, Whispered Neal.

Yeah, giggled Jack. You know they’re always ready to take over, and frankly, they can have it!

The officers joined together like cement in a closed circle and didn’t invite anyone else. Trying to ignore the inevitable call of the detectives, they appeared busy.

What’ll we got here? Detective Adams broke the ice and entered into the circle. He knew he was interrupting their conversations, and he figured it was about how he and his partner were not welcomed.

Reginald started, Tell me Detective Adams, how long you fellows plan to stay out here tonight?

An uncomfortable pause began to sneak upon them gentle as the night.

Gentleman, Detective Adams said slowly and politely. This here is my new partner, Detective Stephens. He’s kinda new in these parts. We just got the call to the scene like you did, that’s all, he apologized.

"Nice to meet you, um, uh, Detective Stephens, right? Reginald stretched his hand forward to exchange a hearty handshake.

Stephens is right. Pleased to meet you.

Are you fellows here to work or just talk? Jack whipped in without interest in any formality.

Get your gloves out, Neal directed, pulling and snapping his gloves to fit his short stubby fingers.

What do we have here? Adams inquired again.

A mess—a damn mess! Reginald responded, inviting them closer to the bodies.

Detective Adams shook his head as he neared the bodies and swatted at the bees and flies that insisted on being there. He and Detective Stephens started almost immediately investigating the scene for evidence and to understand what might have happened.

Look, it appears that there are some drag marks over here. He pointed in the direction toward the brush.

There are no defensive wounds on either victim, but they were stabbed. Detective Stephens observed a cut on the bodies that appeared to have been made by a knife.

You have to get up close to stab someone. How does the killer stab two people and neither has defensive wounds? Detective asked Stephens as they ran down possible scenarios. Stephens drove in first and Adams followed:

He stabs the man first as the woman screams for help.

Well, why doesn’t she run for help?

Maybe, maybe she is scared still, stunned or shocked.

Or?

Or maybe, Detective Stephens continued, maybe she stabbed him first and then—wait that can’t be. Look at the location of the stab wounds.

Or, maybe the killer was hiding and waiting on them to come and he attempted to rob them.

But, their wallets are here. That doesn’t make sense. Wait, she is missing a ring. Maybe a wedding set. Look at the tan around her finger here. Detective Stephens searched for wounds or any signs of a fight.

What about him? Is his missing? It might be a love affair that went bad, Detective Adams theorized.

Ah, man. He is missing his ring finger.

Ugh, that explains the blood there then.

Okay. Let’s get the team in. Detective Stephens directed.

Stephens was more eager now than ever to close this case. It was beginning to feel too familiar. It was almost identical to the case on his desk from last week. Only there he found a couple who had been expired for at least a month. At that scene, he could hear skeletal remains grind into dust and quickly turn DNA into nothing more than a powder. The hollow lifelessness beneath his feet disappeared as he cautiously darted about. The bones were scattered—carelessly mangled about like discarded trash. But he had no time to daydream; he had to get into this case.

This was no job of an amateur, Jack determined citing lack of evidence at the scene.

People slowly crowded the scene. Cries were heard in the night air as the dead lay still and cold with only a sheet to cover them.

Everyone was disgusted. Stephens stood, hands in his pockets, swaying his right foot and staring away from the massive collection of fragmented body parts. He wanted so desperately to leave, but there was no doubt in his mind that leaving now would cost him everything. He had worked too many years in a small town trying to get to this very point in life--he wasn’t about to risk it all now.

God, what have I gotten myself into this time? Stephens pondered, regretfully.

He needed to feel accomplished. Besides, he had nothing to run home to; he had already lost his wife to his alcoholism, as well as the little respect his children once had for him. This job was all he had and this promotion was his last chance to prove himself. But this single moment forced him to weigh every option carefully-- although it was hard-- he knew he had to stay here. Tormented in depreciative thought, the struggle concluded with Stephens to remain just where he should be- in the middle of it all. And despite his inward deceit, he loved every single bit of it.

His frail body fitted neatly into his well worn jeans and black leather jacket. He looked almost too clean cut to be there. He had worked all summer to get buffed and prided himself of the weight of 190 lbs, unlike the gross 260 pounds he once bruised the scale with.

Whoever is responsible for this must have no regard for humanity! Another officer yelled out, inviting Stephens into the conversation. Disgust had choked Stephens’ words to a mere incoherent mutter. He didn’t have the strength to join the conversation at all. He slightly hunched his stress-strained shoulders with an I-really-don’t-know look and shook his head gasping with paralleled amazement. His detestation of the scene was apparent.

You know, the officer continued, there’s a process of disassociation that happens for people to take people’s lives so freely like this...

No one responded nor stopped to entertain the conversation further. Everyone continued, hands busy, eyes bulged forward, as they dusted, photographed and took notes.

Increasingly stifling, the smell of death loomed grotesquely. Its stench was overwhelming. It seemed to grow closer and closer-- enough to smother him. The other officers seemed the least bothered by the scent as they continued to joke, talk and casually work the crime scene. But Stephens could hardly stand it. He secretly prayed not to vomit, while cursing his own emotions. He was desperately wishing that his stomach would settle so that the boys in blue wouldn’t think that he was a rookie. After thirteen years as a sheriff deputy and seven years as a police officer in Macon County, Alabama, he still felt unprepared for brutal murders that happened all too often in the big city. Birmingham had become like a baby-size Atlanta.

Besides, he thought, real detectives are able to look death in the eye and not squint.

He pushed himself further and tried to concentrate on nothing, hoping to ignore the horror of death that faced him. Thoughts of the many arrests he made in the past and all the nearby death situations he had encountered rushed through his mind, but nothing was even close to this. He had only the proud memories of his father’s last words to comfort him: Son, make me proud! His father was a decorated officer but didn’t live to see him make probation.

What’s the matter partner- looks like you just seen a ghost! Detective Adams taunted.

Stephens knew that his disgust was obvious, but never did he realize his hands were draped about his stomach securing his now crouching position.

What-cha doin’ - - look like you ‘bout to barf! --Tell me you aint no wuss! I don’t need no wuss for a partner!

Stephens’ feelings quickly changed to an unleashed arrow of anger. His soft green eyes met Adams’ dark brown eyes with a jerk as he snarled: I am examining the scene - - something you evidently know nothing about!

An intense silence swallowed the breath of them both and only eyes tangled with great deliberation.

Stop being a jerk and just...work! Stephens yelled heatedly.

Stephens knew he had to be hard or at least sound tough around Adams, his new partner. Adams was known to be a loud-mouth-show-off, but he was also one of the best lead detectives around. He was in his mid-forty’s. His soft smooth skin gave an appearance of a twenty-five-year old college graduate. His heavily moussed dark brown hair complemented his dark brown eyes and thinly shaven mustache. He was still buffed and charming. His strong masculinity was noticeable in his tight Levi Strauss jeans and long-sleeved blue denim shirt. His blue and red baseball cap made him look more youthful than ever. His pear shaped faced seemed to light up from the bright beams of his lively eyes. He made everything funny and made everyone feel alive. Everyone loved to be around Adams for his charm and humor, everyone except Stephens. Stephens envied him.

What you got so far? asked Lieutenant Graves, gently stroking his long gray beard as he often did while in deep thought.

He was much older and had worked homicide for thirty-two years. He earned his position by his courage and the loss of his left arm. He had served the same precinct before there were divisions of the investigative units or something called specialization. He worked all parts of investigative units, including sexual assaults. His war stories of hideous crime scenes and homicide investigations couldn’t cast a shadow on what was happening now. Lieutenant Graves was old school. His once youthful strides had been much reduced to a grumpy pounce. He depended on Wild Man Chewing Tobacco to calm his nerves and his crew to keep his reputation as touch and thorough. Nothing ever seemed to really bother or surprise him; he had just about seen it all.

Well, Detective Stephen cited, looking unusually confident, this is definitely our man. His eyebrow rose slightly to circumvent the rhythmic moment of his cringing face that made his forehead deepen like ripples of waters.

Stephens contended, The MO is the same. Look at this, pointing to the heap of ragged clothing. This must be his signature. The clothes have been removed from the victims’ bodies and gently tucked away nearby. Again one item from each victim is missing and the same manner of mutilation resembles the other crime scenes.

His face was no longer strained by his emotions. He stood quietly. He was