The Lunatic Magnet: Book Two

By Shannon K. Murphy

When Andy Quinn was a child, his mother told him he used to talk to the angels. Now theyre doing more than talking. Theyre sending him horrific visions of people who desperately need his help.

Andy is struggling to put his life back together after losing the man he loved and nearly dying himself from a brutal assault by a serial killer.

Hes returned to UMass Boston to continue working toward a teaching degree. However, the nightmares have begun again, and his sleep has once more become a terrifying place in which he experiences someone elses violent murder.

Worse yet, somebody is stalking Andy, disrupting and even sabotaging his life. Can he live up to the grim burden entrusted to him by the angels? But how can he save others when he may not be able to save himself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503522084

Shannon K. Murphy

This is the second book in the Talking to Angels trilogy. It was written when Shannon Murphy was in a very dark place in her life, and both Andy’s actions and emotions in this installment tend to come out of that time. Shannon truly believes that God has, and does, intervene in people’s lives, but it’s not always a supernatural event. To answer that age-old, painful question: how can there be a God to allow such suffering in the world? God is here. He is present is every single person who reaches out to protect another, no matter what it costs them. God can’t stop suffering for us. He can only do it through us. The final installment of Talking to Angels, Little Boy Lost, is coming soon.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

It always seemed to begin with a nightmare. Whenever his life was about to be upheaved and he was going to walk through Hell yet again, Andy Quinn’s sleep was invaded by terror.

He was drowning. He was under water, and there was somebody sitting on him, holding him down. Whoever it was was strong as hell and no matter how desperately Andy thrashed and fought for air, he couldn’t move him. He couldn’t see through the water; it was cloudy and full of silt, but he could feel his attacker’s rage. He wouldn’t be moved by pity or remorse, and he wasn’t about to let up until Andy was dead. The horrible feeling of suffocation consumed him as his lungs demanded oxygen that he couldn’t get. A final frantic gasp sent river water rushing into his mouth and down his throat…

*

Andy sat up in bed, choking and unable to breathe. His lungs refused to open for several panic-filled seconds. He clutched his throat and clawed at the air until, at long last, his body let go of the dream and accepted the sweet oxygen that he gulped in.

His rude awakening had Glen up at the same time, reaching for him in desperate concern. Andy! Are you okay?

Andy shook his head and pushed his arms away. Don’t, he gasped. Don’t touch me, please.

Glen watched him for several tense seconds, worried. Andy had bad dreams for a while after being attacked and nearly killed the previous winter, but those had finally settled down. This was different, however. This was one of those nightmares. Glen knew about them, but he’d never actually been there when Andy suffered one. Andy eventually calmed down, his breathing slowed to normal and he stopped shaking. He sniffed and wiped his damp face before reaching for a small drawer in the nightstand. Inside were three prescription bottles. One was a heavy duty sleeping pill, one was an antidepressant and the last one was anti-anxiety. Andy opened all three and shook one of each into his hand.

Glen scooted closer, leaning over his shoulder. Andy,…it’s been eight months since Matt’s death…and the trial. Do you really still need…all of those?

Andy didn’t speak. He looked back at Glen, closed the drawer, took his pills and got up. He left the bedroom. Glen stared after him sadly.

Andy padded silently down the hall to the bathroom. He put the pills in his mouth, turned on the cold tap and leaned down, drinking from the flow. He swallowed. He didn’t turn on the light or look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to know how bad he looked right now. He left the bathroom and went to the living room. Sitting down on the couch, he reached for his laptop on the coffee table.

He needed to do something normal; to feel normal.

He logged on and rolled the little arrow to mail. He had six new messages. Four were required reading lists from professors at UMass; he’d just started his senior year. A fifth was from Paul Monroe, who told him that he was coming home this week from a month-long campaign in Europe and would call him when he settled in. That made Andy smile. He couldn’t wait to see him again. Things with Paul were always so easy; he didn’t worry and fret about what Andy was going through. Although he was grateful for Glen’s concern, sometimes Andy just wished he would back off. A little.

The sixth e-mail was apparently something that his spam filter had failed to catch. It was addressed to him, but there was no sender and no subject. There was only a single line:

I understand your pain

Whatever they were selling, Andy wasn’t interested, so he deleted it. As it disappeared into the trash bin, he saw a shadow darken the screen. Without turning around, Andy sighed. I don’t want to talk about it, Glen.

Glen leaned down over the back of the sofa with a smile. The psychic senses on full alert?

Andy scoffed. I saw your reflection in my laptop.

Oh, Glen laughed, embarrassed.

Andy finally looked at him. Please don’t treat me like a freak.

Glen lost his smile. He came around to face him. That’s not what I meant. I don’t think you’re a freak.

Just a drug addict.

Glen went down on his haunches in front of him. Kiddo, I’m worried about you, that’s all. He reached up and lovingly brushed back a couple of unruly blond bangs. You’re so sad all the time. I wish I knew how to make you happy.

Andy wasn’t uncaring. He saw the pain in Glen’s eyes. He took his hand. You do, I promise; just by being here with me.

Glen couldn’t bear the thought of a repeat of last year; it had nearly destroyed all of them. It did destroy Matt. Your nightmare tonight…it’s starting again, isn’t it?

Andy shook his head. It was probably nothing.

That’s what Matt had you believing, right up to the end, Glen reminded him. And look what happened.

Andy scoffed painfully and got up, pulling away. So Matt was murdered because he didn’t want me to think I was some kind of psychic weirdo?

Glen stood up and went after him. "Andy, nobody thinks you’re a weirdo. You’re the only one throwing those words around. I believe you. I believe you can sense certain spirits. Why it always seems to be the spirits of murder victims, I don’t know, but you can’t dismiss it anymore. You know it’s real."

Andy stood there facing Glen. He felt so vulnerable, so lost. He couldn’t stop tears from crawling down his face. I…was underwater. Somebody was holding me under, drowning me.

Glen pulled Andy into his arms and held him. Andy returned the embrace, melting into Glen’s warmth. The night had once again become a vicious dog, and it had sharp teeth.

* * *

The sun was shining mercilessly through the window. Andy groaned and rolled over in bed. His head was still groggy from the dream-killing effects of the sleeping pill, and he wanted nothing more than to drift back into sweet unconsciousness. When he squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand, however, he saw that it was a quarter to eight. He had class at nine thirty.

After a hot shower to clear the cobwebs from his mind, he got dressed; jeans and a UMass sweatshirt. He brushed his teeth, moussed his light blond hair into a stylishly teased mess, and put on a pair of wire rim glasses. He’d just started needing them a few months ago. It seemed that as his inner vision grew stronger, his outer vision grew weaker.

In the kitchen, he smiled at Glen, who was on the phone at the table, and poured himself a mug of coffee from the pot on the counter. Glen had a notebook in front of him with a list of names and numbers. Several had already been scratched off. He said, Yes, this is Glen Marquez. I sent you my resume last week, and I just wondered if you’d had the chance to look it over- He paused. His voice grew disappointed as he scratched out another name. You did? Well, thank you for your time. He sighed and pushed End on his smart phone. He looked at Andy, who was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee. Morning, kiddo. Did you get any sleep at all?

Some, I think. No luck?

No; I guess a degree in social work doesn’t go as far as it used to.

Andy sighed. He didn’t know why Glen was being so stubborn. Why don’t you just call the GLC? I’m sure they’d be happy to have you back. Before everything that happened last year, Glen was a relentless front-line warrior for GLBT rights, running the Gay and Lesbian Center with an inexhaustible passion for his work. The brutal murder of his best friend of fifteen years had derailed Glen in every sense of the word. He shook his head at Andy. My heart wouldn’t be in it, and it wouldn’t be fair to the people who depend on the center for help.

Have you had any offers? Andy wondered. Glen must have sent out two dozen resumes.

Just one; from a halfway house for ex-cons. I turned them down.

Why?

Glen scoffed. Because every one of those sons of bitches would have Peter Michelson’s face.

Andy nodded, understanding. Knowing that that murderous bastard was alive and well and enjoying his free cable and free healthcare in prison, while Matt was cold and dead in the grave…still filled him with bitterness and rage against a justice system that had let him down; a justice system that had unequivocally told him that the life of an insane religious fanatic was more important than the life of the man he loved.

Andy pushed the thought away as he set his coffee down. Do you want to drive me to school? I can take the bus if you don’t.

Glen shook his head and got up. No, it’s fine. I have a few errands to run anyway.

Don’t forget that I have Tae Kwan Do tonight, and then I’m working til after midnight, Andy reminded him. So I won’t be here for dinner.

Glen nodded, but he wasn’t too disappointed, because tomorrow night, he would have neither his self-defense class nor work, so Andy had promised every Wednesday to him and him alone. At twenty-two, Andy barely had a free moment to himself. Between school, bartending to keep the bills paid, and his martial art classes-he had already advanced to green belt in just a few short months-he had a pretty exhausting schedule. Glen, at thirty-two lived on the last of his savings and a little money that Matt had left him in his will. Until he found another job, he had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with. Sometimes, it was a heartbreaking chore to find any free time to spend together, which was why Andy had promised Wednesday nights to him.

As Glen went to get his keys, Andy collected his books and smart phone. He saw that he had one text message, and he clicked Read:

Don’t delete me. I want to help you.

With an annoyed sigh, Andy deleted it. No sender, no subject; just like the e-mail last night. Was he being cyber-stalked now?

Glen came back from the bedroom. You ready? Andy nodded.

UMass Boston was the only public university in Boston. Its oceanfront campus sat on Harbor Point facing Dorchester Bay. Until just a few years ago, it was endearingly nicknamed the fortress because of its sparse, unattractive brownstone buildings with odd, mazelike interiors. A complete renovation had revitalized the campus, adding the Clark Athletic Center with its ice hockey arena and Olympic sized swimming pool, and the Campus Center, which housed restaurants, a food court, event space and student clubs. There were actually eleven different schools contained within UMass Boston, and Andy was enrolled in the College of Education and Human Development, studying towards a Bachelor’s in teaching.

When Glen pulled up in front of Wheatley Hall on campus, he waited while Andy unlocked his seatbelt. You don’t have to wait up for me.

Glen smiled. You know I can’t sleep until you’re home safe.

Andy leaned over and Glen met him halfway. They kissed slowly, their goodbye lingering. A year ago, he would have been mortified at the thought of kissing his boyfriend in public. He had been firmly trapped in the closet, until Matt’s love, patience and confidence gave him the strength to come out. Now, a year later, fear of public displays of affection were a moot point. Everybody knew who he was. Peter’s murder spree had created national headlines, and the trial was televised. Andy had been Peter’s last victim, stabbed to within an inch of his life in a nightmarish assault.

His fifteen minutes of fame had set the internet on fire for quite a while; those who praised his heroism for the gay cause, and those who called him a sinner and picketed the courthouse in support of Peter. After all, most of straight, Christian America were getting just as sick of being forced to accept their unnatural lifestyle as Peter was. As a result, Andy had deleted all his social media accounts, and only his personal friends and his parents knew his e-mail address now.

When their goodbye kiss ended, Andy smiled at Glen. I’ll see you tonight.

Bye, kiddo. Glen had started calling him kiddo when he was with Matt, and the term of endearment had stuck. Andy climbed from the car and waved as he pulled out.

His morning class schedule consisted of Group Dynamics, Advanced Sociology, and Intermediate Spanish. He’d added Spanish last year when he’d started seeing Glen. Glen was half-Mexican and bi-lingual, and he’d made Andy realize, to his shame, that he hadn’t considered learning a second language before. After all, his home state of Indiana wasn’t very big on diversity. With Glen to help him along, Andy learned very quickly; much faster than those who had only the textbook to learn from. He recalled with a smile the night Glen taught him how to swear in Spanish, how to talk dirty, and Spanish slang for various body parts and sex acts. That was something they’d never learn in class.

By early afternoon, when his last morning class let out, he headed to the Campus Center for lunch. It was all the way across the large quad, and he walked in the crisp October air. The leaves had exploded with color and quite a few students were already in the Halloween spirit. Decorations both spooky and kitschy already covered the dorms, and carved pumpkins littered every step. Andy greeted several people that he knew and walked on. Nobody stopped to engage him. Some people still didn’t know how to talk to him after seeing him on TV testifying against Peter. But then again, he wasn’t the most approachable guy anymore, either. The last several months, he’d pretty much closed himself off from any kind of social life.

At the loud, busy food court, he bought a turkey sandwich and a Coke and sat alone at a table, opening a book. The noise didn’t bother him. He was able to tune it all out. A lifetime introvert and quiet reader, he was immune to distraction. Once he was a chapter and a half into it, he thought he heard his name. He glanced up at the next table. A group of very young girls who had to be freshmen were giggling and staring at him. With urging from her friends, one of them finally got up and came over. Um…we were just wondering…are you the guy we saw on TV last spring? You know, the Slasher murders? Inwardly cringing, Andy nodded wordlessly. The girl turned to look at her friends, and they gestured at her in encouragement. She looked at Andy. Is it true that he…cut his victims’ dicks off? Andy only stared at her without expression. Awkwardly, the girl cleared her throat. So, we just wondered…if you still have one. You know…or did he cut it off? Her friends began to snicker and titter.

Andy finally spoke, Are you kidding? You don’t know me, and I don’t want to know you, so you and the twisted sisters can fuck off. Not very clever or witty, but Andy was sick of this whole goddamned thing.

She balked as her friends guffawed. God, I was only curious! You seemed like such a nice guy on TV.

Sorry to disappoint you, Andy dismissed her. When she stalked away, Andy went back to reading. It wasn’t long before the girls cleared out. But Andy still wasn’t left alone. A few minutes later, someone else approached him. It was Todd Cranston, one of the Gay Student Alliances’ most persistent reps. He sat down without waiting for an invitation.

How are you doing, Andy?

Fine, he said. Todd was wearing an Izod shirt and khaki pants. He was preppie to the bone. He was blond like Andy, but unlike Andy, his hair was perfectly coifed in a back feathered do that looked not only expensive, but high maintenance. He had an innocent face, full lips, a straight, small Northern European nose that less naturally endowed youth spent thousands to fix and wide green eyes that seemed fresh out of the womb…. he’d never known an ounce of life-altering pain. Or maybe pain just bounced off him, unable to penetrate his perpetually sunny disposition.

You know, you shouldn’t have said that to that girl.

I’m tired of being a side-show freak, Todd, Andy informed him.

Todd cleared his throat. I understand that, and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like; to have the worst moment of your life put on TV as entertainment, but when you respond like that, you’re only widening the gap between gay and straight students. We’re trying to close that gap, to bring understanding.

I’m not going to be your poster boy for the gay cause, Andy interrupted curtly. I’m not interested in joining you. How many ways do I have to say no?

Come on, Todd pleaded. Just come to one of our mixers. You’ll see that we’re not all political. We have fun sometimes, too. There’s some people I want you to meet.

You mean more assholes who want to know if I still have a dick?

Todd turned a deep red. No, of course not! We wouldn’t do that to you, Andy. We’re trying to be your friend.

Andy closed his book and got up. I have another class. I need to get going.

Can you at least give me your number so I can call you? Todd insisted.

I don’t give out my number, Andy told him. I’m not on Facebook, Twitter, Reddit or Instagram.

Well, how can I get in touch with you?

You can’t, Andy told him, his tone final. And neither can any of Peter Michelson’s groupies. That’s the way it’s going to stay.

Todd stood up as Andy walked away. He called desperately after him, If you change your mind, you can call me. I’m in the student directory!

Even if the horror of last year had never happened, Andy would have no interest in being friends with Todd. He tried way too hard to ingratiate himself. He reminded Andy of that weird little kid on the playground who gave the other kids money or candy so they’d hang out with him. The playground reference wasn’t too far off, either, because Todd had almost a child-like personality. Andy wouldn’t be surprised if he was still a virgin, because God forbid he perpetuate the stereotype that gay men are all promiscuous perverts. If he wasn’t gay, he would probably be Mormon.

Andy felt completely put off around him. That, as much as his aversion to being a token victim for gay rights, kept him far away from the Alliance.

After school, he took the bus across town to the Y where he took Tae Kwan Do lessons. The instructor was a small, muscular Japanese man named Yomoto Nakasai. Andy changed into his uniform, which looked and felt like black pajamas, and tied his green belt around his waist. He stowed his glasses in his locker. The class consisted of about a dozen people, mostly men, but three women. They began by going through their basic forms. The kicks, punches, and blocks were second nature to Andy by now, and he moved through each one with ease. Every form was punctuated by a loud, wordless shout. It was more than mere dramatic effect, Nakasai had told them. By crying out with every punch and kick, it reminded them to breathe. When under attack, panic caused most people to hold their breath. Without sufficient oxygen, self-defense was nearly impossible.

Then, it was time for the sparring session. The class formed a ring around the mats, and Nakasai began by saying, When you are out on the street, it is very unlikely that you will be assaulted by someone your own size. Weight divisions are only for demonstration, but in real life, you must learn to defend yourself against a larger opponent. He looked around at his students, sizing each of them up. He finally pointed at a heavily built man of about thirty with curly hair and a round face. Jeff, the Sensei said. Front and center. Jeff Wright grinned eagerly and stepped forward. Nakasai looked around again, and pointed at Andy. Andy. He gestured him forward with a crooked finger.

Swallowing nervously, Andy stepped into the center of the ring. Jeff scoffed and shook his head as their size difference became very apparent. He was a foot taller than Andy, and at least fifty pounds heavier. Andy slowly looked up the huge man’s body until he got to his face. Jeff’s expression was derisive, telling Andy to prepare for slaughter. The two mismatched men took a ready stance, and bowed to each other.

Andy steeled himself, watching for weakness as they circled. When Jeff lunged, Andy side-stepped, hoping to use his size against him. The momentum carried him off balance for a moment, and Andy struck. Without giving him a second to recover, he delivered a blow to his back…

That barely fazed him.

He stood straight and faced Andy. Assuming the defensive stance, Andy waited for his attack. Jeff began to circle again; a predator stalking prey. He punched out with his right arm, and Andy successfully blocked him from doing any damage, but the force of the bigger man’s weight made him stagger back a step, off balance. Jeff followed it immediately by a left blow that struck Andy’s ribs. Andy cried out in pain, lowering his arm to protect his side. That left his face unprotected. With a smile, Jeff faked a blow to his head and, when Andy reacted, his larger opponent swept his leg out, catching him behind the knees. Andy found himself landing hard flat on his back. His breath whooshed from his lungs and he saw stars. Before he could move, he was staring up at a fist in his face and a triumphant smile behind it. Jeff chuckled, relaxed his stance and stood up straight. He extended his hand down to a defeated Andy. After a pause, Andy took it and let him help him up. He clapped Andy on the back cordially. Not everyone is cut out for martial arts, dude. Why don’t you give up on real fighting and stick to hitting guys with your purse, huh?

The class laughed good-naturedly. Andy reddened in humiliation. He gulped in air to refill his lungs, and tried to shake off the dizziness spinning through his head.

Nakasai rejoined them in the ring. "Andy, you had already lost the moment you believed you couldn’t beat Jeff. From that point on, your every move was fear-based. You must learn to control that fear in order to control your body." Andy nodded self-consciously. He watched the rest of his class spar, and most often the bigger opponent won. No matter what Nakasai was attempting to teach them, size did matter. What good would a belt do Andy if he failed every time he faced somebody bigger? Or someone who fought dirty?

After a quick shower, Andy changed back into his street clothes for work. Still embarrassed, still angry, he slammed his locker door a little too hard just as his phone trilled to indicate an incoming text message. He clicked on it:

It looked like he cheated to me.

Andy’s anger turned instantly to fear. He froze and stared at the screen. No sender, no subject. Just the message.

Somebody was watching him.

The only people who had his phone number were Glen, Paul, his parents, Rhonda, and Lt. Gianelli. They comprised the sole people on this earth that he trusted with his life. They were above suspicion. That meant he’d been hacked. But who? And why?

Andy was going to delete this message, too, but he thought better of it and hit save. He didn’t know how far this person was prepared to go, or what they even wanted, so he was going to need a record of every message he got if he eventually had to go to the police. He put his phone away and looked around the locker room. There were quite a few men in the room, coming from the showers, getting dressed, talking, laughing, even making calls on their cells. None of them were looking at him, or looking suspicious at all.

Andy gathered his books and quickly left.

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

It was almost midnight, and Dino’s Bar was packed to the walls. The part-timer didn’t show up, so Andy and one other bartender were trying to take care of the whole place. Techno dance music played at full volume, and colored strobe lights created a surreal effect over the gyrating men. Andy had to lean in close so that customers could yell their order into his ear. Most men took the opportunity to touch his arm or shoulder at the same time, but Andy didn’t mind. When he let them get touchy, they left bigger tips. Seven and Seven with a twist! A bare-chested man ordered loudly.

Andy nodded and reached for a glass. He took a bottle of Seagram’s from the mirrored shelf behind the bar, then leaned down below to a mini-fridge. He got a cold can of 7-up and a lime. He mixed the drink, added a lime wedge and a swizzle stick and handed it to the customer. He yelled back into the man’s ear, Three-fifty!

The man gave him a five and told him to keep the change. Andy smiled and nodded.

Suddenly, he smelled the sulfur of a burning match. He turned and looked. At the end of the bar, a man was smoking. He sucked on a cigarette until the tip glowed. He was middle-aged, with brown hair cut unevenly receding from a high forehead. He carried a little extra weight in the belly, but his face was long and lean. His eyes were dark and narrow, but his gaze shot out of them like lasers; focused and intense. Everything about him screamed straight, so what the hell was he doing in a gay bar? Andy put the customer’s five in the cash register and went to him. Sorry, no smoking.

The man cupped his ear in confusion. Andy pointed at the no smoking sign above the bar. The man smiled and dropped his cigarette into a near-empty beer glass. It sizzled and died. Can I get you another beer? Andy offered. The man folded his hands and stared at Andy without answering. His stare continued to be deep and penetrating. It made Andy uncomfortable. You’re a cop, aren’t you?

What makes you say that?

You remind me of somebody. Besides, you’re a little too conservative for this crowd. He nodded to the free-spirited dancers on the floor. Whatever you want, you won’t find it here.

How do you know what I want?

Come on, man, I’m not stupid. You consider gay bars a public nuisance and you and your buddies would be a lot happier if we all went back in the closet. In the spirit of political correctness, you’ll tell me that you have nothing against us, but these kinds of places tend to attract problems like drugs and gay bashers, and you are sick of having to protect us from things we bring on ourselves, right?

The man cocked an eyebrow. Sounds like you’ve had some experience with cops.

Some, Andy agreed.

Well, son, I’m not a cop, he revealed. But I do recognize you. Aren’t you that kid who was all over the TV last spring during the Slasher trial?

Andy sighed and stepped back away from the man. Look, if you don’t want another drink, I’ve got other customers. He started to turn around.

Kid, you don’t have to spook on me, the man laughed. I’m not a weirdo or a pervert. My name’s Henry Markle. He extended his hand.

Andy looked at it, then at the man. After a moment’s pause, he took his hand uneasily. When Markle tightened his grip, Andy suddenly felt a rush of dread. Was he truly sensing danger from the man, or was it just his heterophobia? He dropped the man’s hand and retreated. I have to get back to work.

Son, I just want to talk to you, Markle insisted.

Sorry, no time, Andy dismissed as he returned to safety at the other end of the bar.

The man sat there until close, watching him. Andy was completely spooked by two a.m. and last call. Could he be his mystery hacker? Was he one of Peter’s supporters? Or maybe, in spite of his assurance, was he a closeted pervert with man/boy fantasies? Whatever his damage was, Andy didn’t want to know. He’d had enough of human darkness and dementia to last the rest of his life, so whatever worms twisted in Markle’s brain when he was alone, Andy wasn’t about to touch it.

A few minutes before close, he called over one of the club regulars. Jake Lumet was a big biker type who worked out regularly to maintain his muscular body. He was proud of his build, his tats, and his leather fetish. He kept his head shaved to the skin, but a rugged five o’clock shadow darkened his face. Andy’s humiliation at Tae Kwan Do tonight made him realize that he wasn’t ready to take on a threat by himself, so…

"Jake, would you mind hanging out for a little bit after