Crystal Possession: Vanessa's Story

By Tim Conley

A murder mystery with a twist – that in the person of Karmak, from Earth’s past imprisoned inside a crystal. Vanessa’s grandfather found the crystal while diving - is in a wheelchair because of it. She tells a Boston reporter about the crystal and what it contains after Boston’s finest police are closing in on their suspect – Vanessa. Matthew Snow finds he must exonerate his friend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tim Conley
• Release date: Apr 6, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452451336

Tim Conley

Hi, my name is Tim Conley. I live in Philadelphia, MS with my beautiful wife, Carmela. My son,James (JD) is in the Air Force and has a son Joshua who is 21/2 with another boy on the way. Carmela's son - Enrik just graduated from Mississippi State University with a degree in Teaching.I have been writing for over twenty years and have published 67 books so far - two recently with Amazon/Kindle. I'm currently working on a fantasy anthology of 28 books called The Rhumgold Sagas.I have always been interested in publishing via eBook format but just haven't found the venue until now. I'm really looking forward to participating in the eBook experience. There are 22 e-books available now and 16 more that are being prepared for release in 2020. Read, explore and enjoy!

Book preview

CRYSTAL POSSESSION: VANESSA’S STORY

by

Timothy J. Conley

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Timothy J. Conley on Smashwords

Crystal Possession: Vanessa’s Story

Copyright © 2003 by Timothy J. Conley

ISBN: 978-1-4524-5133-6

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tinytim2

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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 person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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DEDICATIONS

I would like to dedicate this book to my wife and best friend, Carmela, who has stuck with my writing and has provided encouragement for me to complete all the projects I've spent the past fifteen years working on.

A special dedication goes to Vanessa Schall. She was a young, vibrant Petty Officer in the U.S. Navy when I knew her. Her persona served as the basis for Vanessa in this story – they both had the same fire for life and love for adventure. Fair winds and following seas!

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Chapter 1

Multi-faceted Murder

Lightning reflected in the base of two antique lamps sitting on expensive, carved end tables. Carvings in a matching oriental screen stood in stark relief as another high charged bolt sizzled across the sky in answer to the first.

Rain pecked on a window and combined with answering thunder to almost conceal the thud of the body as it slid from the desk onto the floor. The white tab on the man's collar reflected briefly as another flash lit the room.

She knelt beside the body. 'He has to be dead. No mistakes can be made this time. I don't need him suddenly walking back into my life again. As it was, he nearly ruined everything for me.'

Thoughts rushed through her head as she squeamishly reached out and touched his chest. 'What is it they do in the movies? Ah, yes. They always feel around the neck for a heartbeat.'

But she didn't want to touch him again. Another lightning bolt would be nice so she could tell for sure if he was dead or not.

Nature answered her call. Her heart beat violently as the priest's agony-frozen face lit up for her inspection. A brown hole trickled black ooze from between his eyes. She tried to shut the vision out by closing her eyes but his face was lit by constant light inside her head.

His blank eyes stared straight at her. She saw his mouth move – in slow motion. I will see you rot in hell, you little bitch! he had screamed the moment before she pulled the trigger.

She had to shake her head and take a deep breath to clear the image. Her knees felt shaky as she stood and leaned against the desk. Quickly she glanced around the room. She had to find and remove everything that would lead anyone to suspect she had been in the rectory. Thoughts were coming rapidly now that his ghastly face was cleared from before her eyes. She reached around the corner of the desk and felt for her purse.

Again, nature assisted. She found it and also picked up the old coat she had been wearing when Father Jim had escorted her into his office. She put it on and quickly rearranged her dress. The coat would come in handy with the rain.

She could ditch it somewhere along the drive back to Boston. She dropped the gun into a pocket and forgot about it. Some wino in Milton would probably find it.

For a brief moment she dared turn on the desk lamp. Light was needed, though she knew well the danger of being discovered. Surveying the desk drove the thought of any danger from her mind as her eyes lit on the opened page of a thick, leather-bound, embossed diary and day calendar that lay in the middle of the desk.

Her name was underlined on the page. It seemed to be bleeding over into the rest of the page, through the entire book.

May 19th was circled. The bastard had also circled their meeting a week earlier. She could see it through the back of the proceeding page. What other records had he kept, she wondered.

Slipping on her driving gloves, she went through his drawers, but found nothing that could be linked to her. She looked around the room once more before turning off the lamp, but found nothing she considered hers.

Quietness stole out of the room with her. She glanced back for the body, but it was hidden by the bulk of the desk. Her gloved hand caressed the knob as she gently closed the door.

The flat shoes she had taken from the pockets of the raincoat made no sound in the hallway, a sharp contrast to those remaining by the plush, black leather couch. But the thought of them entered not into her mind.

The police had already gone over the place thoroughly by the time I arrived. Framingham Monastery was not a location where one normally expected to find a murder, especially of a priest, and least likely – a close friend.

His body had already been removed to the morgue. I didn't get a look at it. One of the cops said the guys brains were plastered all over the books behind his desk. I didn't even get that far. The rectory was cordoned off.

I hung around with some of the other reporters until Inspector Wallace stepped out of a side door. None of the others seemed to notice as he slipped quietly into the yard behind the house. The gate was open, so I joined him. He glowered but recognized me. We had worked together on several cases.

What are you doing here, Snow? You morgue guys depress me, you know that? Always chasing an ambulance. He grunted and flipped his cigarette away and turned back to look around the garden.

Dan was obviously shaken by what he had seen inside. I sat on the stone bench and waited for him to continue. He finally came over and sat down. His suit looked rumpled, like he hadn't had time to do anything but put it on. The garish pink tie didn't match it.

Dan, who dressed you this morning? I chided him.

Listen, smart guy, while you were sleeping peacefully I was rousted out to find that a devout friend was not so pious. He looked away, placed his hands squarely on his knees and shook his head as he didn't believe what he had just said.

What do you mean, Dan? We've both known Jim for a long time. Why, his father baptized me, remember? What are you saying?

Dan looked at me as he rustled through his pocket for another cigarette. You can't print any of this. You can't even repeat any of it. So help me, Matt, I'll take the keys to that green piece of shit you call a VW and throw them and your bug into Buzzards Bay if you repeat a word of this. Understand?

Dan knew how much I loved my bug. Of course, Dan. What went on in there?

Shaking his head as he lit his smoke, he said. I'm not sure, Matt. The cleaning woman found Jim's body this morning. She likes to clean his office early so he can be undisturbed through the morning.

Dan exhaled smoke and I almost retched at the smell. Dan's a good friend but I hate smoke, especially after it’s passed through someone else.

Matt, he was shot at close range. He pointed to an area of his forehead just above his eyes, dead center. Jim must have been facing and maybe even approaching whoever did it. I interrupted him. Did you find the gun? He shook his head. Nothing.

We both sat still for a moment. I looked out across a small herb garden that was being readied for spring and pulled my coat closer around my neck.

A cold wind seemed to have come up. It was chilly sitting there, even with the sun at nine o'clock. Dan startled me as he continued. We found something else. I can hardly believe it.

I looked sideways and noticed how ashen Dan's face had become. You better lay off those nicotine sticks, Dan. You don't look so good. What else did you find? He looked sharply at me. I won't say a word. I promise. Jim was a friend, remember?

Somewhere near a church bell peeled. My watch said it was nine. Dan stood and paced around for a moment or two. Matt, we know that a woman was in Jim's office last night. Her panties and high heels were found beside the couch. Actually the panties were stuck down inside of a crack in the couch.

He jerked a thumb back toward the house. I was just on the phone with the county coroner. He said the stains on them matched those on Jim's shorts. Dan turned toward me. You realize what that means? Jim was screwing whoever killed him.

Both of us were silent as the concept hit home. Jim was one of those people you grow up with that you think you know. He couldn't have been untrue to his faith. The three of us had gone to school together.

Jim had been adopted into Father Darnell's orphanage family when he was five and had followed in his adopted father's footsteps. I went into the Navy and Dan to the police academy. None of us had lost touch, even with the busy pace of life in a big city.

My mind kept saying it couldn't be happening. Not to Jim.

A window opened behind us and one of the uniforms yelled out to Dan about someone downtown wanting to talk to him. He looked at me, and then we shook hands. Ditch that tie before you go see the mayor, Dan.

Yeah, and I'd gladly ditch that green piece of shit you call a car, you slime ball meat chaser. I'll call you when we have something you can print.

I watched him as he walked back through the gate. The weight of the world seemed on his shoulders. I tried to sit where I was and think for a few minutes, but the concrete seat hadn't soaked up any of the sun and cold was beginning to sink through the cloth of my trousers, reminding me that spring was still several weeks away.

What a rotten time to die. I won't say a word. I promise. Jim was a friend, remember? I muttered as Dan went back into the rectory. I looked back at the front of the house and wondered what his killer was like as I walked to the green implement of destruction the Inspector was going to sink in Buzzards Bay, of all places. A terrible sadness gripped me. Jim's murderess would not escape. Of that I was certain.

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Chapter 2

Intrigue at the Globe

I arrived back at the office around one-thirty. A low budget assignment at Logan International held my attention for most of the morning. One of our nation's war heroes was coming home for his final rest and Mr. Murphy wanted me to interview the deceased man's widow for the Obits section.

Believe me; she was in no mood to be interviewed by any reporter. My heart really wasn't into it either, so I really didn't persevere.

Most days I hate this job. Especially when death knocks too closely and today was no exception. Jim Darnell's murder was a black cloud over my head even as I sat down at my desk. Littered messages atop everything reminded me that I was over an hour behind with my dailies.

The yellow stickies attached to the computer screen said I would be even later today than yesterday. Murphy wants to see you was written on three of them in red ink. A fourth was in purple and NOW was circled. He only used that color when all patience had expired.

The elevator up smelled old and musty. Scent cubes used by the custodial staff didn't hide Murphy's atrocious cigars. He smoked them incessantly. I hated walking into his office, but had no choice. He had sent for me.

His secretary, Linda, waved me through. We could both hear Murphy scream through the door. Has anyone located Snow yet? I want him in my office.

The best approach would probably be misdirection. I took that. The plane was delayed and Mrs. Riley didn't really want to talk to me.

What the hell do you think I pay you for, Snow? To hell with it! I send you out for a story about one of our country's fallen heroes and you come back with lame excuses. No wonder you haven't made it past the Obits section.

He came around the desk and waved his rotten cigar in my direction. You are going to stay there. Got that? You are either gonna rot there or quit. I'm betting on you quitting, except I know you Navy guys don't like the word. It kinda sticks in your throat, huh, Snow? Derision flowed around the butt hanging from his mouth.

Murphy laughed at me then and waddled back around his desk. A big finger stabbed back at me as he sat in his over-stuffed chair. Its hinges squeaked – as if in protest. Well, what's it gonna be, mister? You gonna work for us or what?

I'll have the interview on your desk in thirty minutes, sir. I said and started for the door. His it better be didn't come so I turned back.

Murphy was holding a folder in his hands. It could only mean one thing. Another assignment. Another assignment in the never ending procession of work from the top.

Murphy was committed to the axiom of bury the staff under a mile of paperwork. I walked back to his desk where he held the folder just out of reach.

Yes, smart guy. It could have been delivered, but I just wanted the pleasure of watching you grovel for another assignment. He threw it at me and leaned back in his chair. Blow this one Snow and I'll have reason to sack your ass. Got it?

I said Yes, sir. and walked out of the office. Murphy was saying something about special instructions as the door closed. I didn't even look at the folder until I got back to my desk.

Then I opened it and read the special instructions. Murphy wanted me to go out to Cambridge and interview some rich woman. The deadline was circled in purple at the top of the page. One O'clock, May 20th. The man wasn't serious. That was tomorrow.

I had more work to do than I could get done. Turning to the blank computer screen just heightened the feeling of being in it over my head. I took a deep breath and did something I'd learned in the Navy.

Taking things one piece at a time seems to work for me. Maybe that's one reason why I always seem to be busy. I get the work done.

I deliberately tuned Murphy out as the Obits Section headline began to flow into the screen. There was still time to beat the deadline.

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Chapter 3

Assignment to Research

Old man Murphy acts like an old lady. My distinguished colleagues raised their eyebrows as I sat my coffee on the table in front of me. Heat lifting from it warmed cold fingers that never seemed