Serial Psychic: A psychological thriller with a killer psychic twist

By Karen Lee House

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have extraordinary mental powers? It would be amazing, right? Think again! The human brain is a complex biological computer, there is no way to know the true potential of a fully activated mind. Imagine being able to know without a doubt, if someone is lying to you. To be able to see into another p

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Koi Publications
• Release date: May 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9780648539810

Book preview

PROLOGUE

It was a beautiful night. The sky was cloudless and sparkling with its infinite number of stars, while the full moon played hide and seek with the skyline of concrete and lights. The night air was not cold, but crisp. The only flaw in the perfect night, a faint odour of the Swan River wafting on the gentle breeze to the nostrils of the pretty young woman walking down a side street.

The pantsuit of royal blue, slightly rumpled and creased, suited her slender frame and enhanced her light blonde hair. Sally Willcox had only moments before left the relative safety of busy St. George’s Terrace. Usually the windiest street in Perth, even the Terrace was calm, at eight o’clock at night, it and the surrounding roads were still a thoroughfare for theatre and partygoers, diners exploring the various restaurants and of course, the late-night workers.

Sally did not usually fall into the last category; she was strictly a nine to five girl in the public service. For some unexplained and totally irrational reason, her computer had crashed, effectively shutting down every computer in the office connected to it. Her supervisor was convinced she was at fault and insisted she stay behind to discover and correct her mistake.

After hours of beating her head against the offending machine, she discovered an insidious virus had been implanted into her programs, causing them to shut down at precisely 4:45 p.m. She could only assume that one of her co-workers thought it a great practical joke. With a little more investigation, Sally knew she would be able to trace the virus back to its demented creator. She hated being out at night alone.

While she had been on St. George’s Terrace, she had found herself enjoying the night, the sights and sounds unleashed with the dark hour. But upon turning into Irwin Street on her way to the multi-storeyed car park, she remembered her reasons for never working after dark. It was a lot quieter here at night, and she was totally alone. It was now she wished she used the car park under Council House, she usually loved the walk, but not at night. Her imagination began to play tricks with her mind as every shadow threatened menacingly. The tattoo beat out by her high heeled shoes echoed down the street, increasing the suddenly unearthly atmosphere.

Her uneasy feelings escalated when she saw a lone van parked outside the Law Courts ahead. It looked old, dirty and the number plate was unreadable for the mud smeared across its surface. The back windows were completely black, not a trace of light or movement was visible through the eerie blackness, and although it was only a feeling, she was sure someone inside the van was watching her approach.

She stopped, trying to decide whether to turn back and go around, but that would mean walking around the entire block to reach the car park and the safety of her car, and it would take too long. Her high heels again began their clattering drum beat, only now, with increasing speed. Her skin prickled with unease as she crossed the street to pass the van from the other side of the road, but it proved ineffective. As s he drew alongside the ominous looking vehicle, the rear door suddenly burst open and a man wearing a balaclava jumped out and hurtled toward her with lightning speed. Sally, already nervous and agitated, broke into a run but hampered by her impractical shoes, she was helpless against the faster and much stronger man. She was grabbed from behind and struck with vicious force across the back of her head, and she saw stars enough to rival the heavens above her before complete blackness overtook her senses.

***

A persistent pounding inside her skull woke Sally, only to find herself spread-eagled on a cold metal table. The bright light shining straight into her eyes effectively prevented her from seeing anything beyond its torturous glare, so she closed her eyes to avoid the increased pain to her battered head. She was naked and tied by her wrists, ankles and waist to a table with her mouth taped. Unable to move, she tried again to open her eyes, squinting against the bright light she was able to make out a movement to her left. Then the darkly clad man appeared by her side with a tray of what looked like medical instruments, their razor-sharp presence terrifying.

Sally tried to see the man’s face, but behind the mask he wore, she saw only his cold, soulless eyes and knew his intent. The bile rose in her throat, and she tried to scream, the tape across her mouth cutting off the terror-stricken cry. The sound of the man’s obvious pleasure came to her shocked brain, she looked at him again to see his head thrown back in gratification, and she heard his whispered plea.

Yes, oh yes. More, I need more.

Sally Willcox prayed for the first time in her short life. She prayed that someone would miraculously appear to deliver her from this madman, she prayed for her parents, and she prayed most fervently, that it would be quick. Unfortunately, Sally’s prayers were never answered, and it was many days before she was finally delivered from her torment to enter the peace of death.

One

Stephanie Dale sat thoughtfully munching on an unappetisingly limp toasted ham and cheese, not exactly a healthy breakfast. Her short dark blonde hair had the look of a chic hairdresser’s touch; in reality, the fashionably unkempt style was acquired by Stephanie continually running her hands through the curly mass in frustration. Her skirt and blouse of dark green and white respectively needed changing, she hadn’t been home since yesterday morning and had spent the night at the Police Station.

She had decided to grab a quick bite to eat while her partner, Darcy Harris, met with his informant. She was tired and at a complete loss with their most recent case, if the rest of their caseload wasn’t enough to send any sane person screaming to Bedlam, this one had them stumped. Stephanie was mulling the small number of facts over in her mind, her blue eyes focused on the table in front of her, when she became aware of a hushed conversation taking place directly behind her. Typically, she would have ignored the chatter around her to concentrate on her thoughts, but the whispered words caught her attention.

I tell you, Lyn, she’s not a fake. A distinctly unladylike grunt greeted the speaker’s words before she was allowed to continue. I was sceptical at first and only went to see her out of curiosity, but she was right on the money. She knew about my mum passing away last year, and how hard that was for me and she told me to leave him.

Well if you believed her, why didn’t you take her advice?

"I wasn’t sure then, but Geoffrey changed my mind, he punched me just as she said he would. That’s not all, she can find things for people, lost jewellery, sentimental stuff, just by touching a person she can see things, she may be able to find your ring. She gives me goosebumps just being near her."

What did she charge you for this little fortune telling session?

Nothing, there’s a box by the door for donations but that’s all, she didn’t mention money.

Stephanie had heard enough, it was not unheard of for the police to seek the services of a psychic, it had been done many times, besides, she was desperate enough to try anything. No one need know and if the woman in question turned out to be a charlatan, no harm done. She turned towards the two women and saw for herself the evidence of Geoffrey’s handiwork, one of the women had tried to hide under make-up. She sported a black eye. Quietly she interrupted their conversation.

Excuse me, ladies, may I have a word with you? The women looked at her questioningly. My name is Stephanie, and I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions about the woman you were discussing? The one with the black eye looked at her friend, then back to Stephanie.

I suppose, it’s not a secret, but a lot of people think a person is nuts just going to see one of these Psychics.

I understand, and I don’t think you’re nuts, but if she is genuine, I think she may be able to help me find something very special.

Well okay, I don’t think she would mind. I’m Jenny by the way, and this is Lyn.

Nice to meet you both. Now, tell me how you heard about this woman?

I met her briefly at an Art Exhibition; her name is Megan Callahan. I got talking with the Gallery Owner, and he told me about Megan, how she can see things, the past and the future. I went to see her at her home out of curiosity, and she told me all about my life, past illness, my mum dying, my profession, everything. Then she went very still and quiet and seemed to be looking right through me, then after a minute or two she said, ‘You must leave him, he’s going to hurt you.’ I asked her who and how was he going to hurt me and she said Geoffrey, my partner was going to come home from work in a temper and hit me, here. She indicated her black left eye.

I know it’s none of my business, but I hope you have left him.

Yeah, a man only gets one chance with me.

Glad to hear it. You say Megan can find things, what about people, do you know if she can locate missing people?

I don’t know, but Richard, the Gallery owner told me how she found his dog, it had climbed under an old house and got stuck. Megan saw the house in a vision or something. Trying hard to keep her mounting excitement under control, Stephanie handed the woman a napkin from her table and asked,

Can you give me Megan’s address? Jenny scribbled an address on the napkin and handed it back to Stephanie, saying,

I hope she can help you.

Thank you, so do I. Stephanie left the Café to make her way to Mount Helena; the woman would have to live as far away from the city as possible. Darcy was going to be pissed.

***

Steph, where the hell are you? Mount Helena.

What the hell are you doing up there?

I’m checking out a lead, and you were busy. There’s no risk involved, and quite frankly, I had a feeling you might think I’m going a little nuts. Just trust me will you, if it pans out, I’ll fill you in when I get back to the station house.

See that you do.

Darcy was a sweetheart, and she loved him to death, but he could be such a bad-tempered jerk, his clipped and sharp tone of voice told her quite plainly that she had some explaining to do when she got back.

Darcy had become more like a big brother to her than a partner. After an initial problem with his male pigheadedness over having a female partner thrust upon him, he had eventually come to realise that she was more interested in the work than being, as he had called her that first day, ‘A pampered female airhead looking for a fast track to a cushy office job at the top.’ She had actually had to save his butt from a potentially fatal bullet before he decided to take her seriously. His grudging respect over that incident had turned to admiration for her dedication to the job and then finally, genuine friendship. Theirs was now a relationship cemented in mutual affection.

Stephanie was sitting in her souped-up SS-V Redline Commodore, it had cost her an arm and a leg and left her seriously in debt, but she liked the V8 power. Dropping her phone back into her bag, she stepped from the car to make her way up the overgrown path to the front door of Megan Callahan’s.

It was a little old fibro house almost consumed by the riotous greenery planted in every square inch of soil. The path of used and broken bricks added to the charm of the old building but was not easy to traverse in heels, even though Stephanie’s were on the small side for practicality. The wooden floorboards protested as she stepped up onto the veranda and she spied the box mentioned by Jenny. It was small and brightly painted with the words, ‘any donations greatly appreciated’.

Stephanie’s knock on the old front door received no response, nor did her second or third.

Great, just great. Come all the way out here to find no one at home.

I beg your pardon; are you looking for me?

Stephanie turned to see a tall, willowy woman walking up the path, her slim arms cradling a possum, which hid its head under the woman’s arm when it spied Stephanie.

You’re Megan Callahan? Yes, can I help you?

My name is Stephanie Dale, I’m a Detective with the West Australian Police Force, and I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind? Megan walked closer to Stephanie and looked into her eyes. Stephanie felt a tingle go down her spine as the woman’s intense green eyes seemed to look into her very soul. Mesmerised she could only stare back, then Megan quietly said,

I’ll help if I can Miss Dale. Please come in. Megan led the way into the house which was more extensive than it appeared from the road.

Furnished in a homey, comfortable fashion, it invited a person to relax, while a hodgepodge of colour and a variety of knick-knacks were everywhere. Stephanie followed Megan down the hall and into the kitchen come studio come dining room. It was a large room combining all three. Paintings were everywhere, and an unfinished work sitting on an easel drew Stephanie closer. It was a portrait of a man sitting at a table, sideon to the artist. The background and the man were hazy, clearly unfinished, his hair was a light brown colour, and he held what looked like an empty frame in his hands, his posture spoke of sadness and loss.

Stephanie turned from the painting to see Megan gently place the possum in a box on the floor with a bowl of water; the possum limped painfully to the water and drank.

Would you like a cup of tea Miss Dale?

I prefer Ms. actually, but please call me Stephanie and yes I’d love one. Stephanie sat down at the table and watched the possum watching her; it seemed nervous for a pet. I don’t think your possum likes me.

Oh, he’s not mine, I found him in the park, I think he was hit by a car, his leg is hurt. What is it you wanted to ask me, Stephanie? Megan had a quiet, soothing voice. She was not a traditionally beautiful woman, but she was striking. Her dark brown hair was shiny and straight and hung to her shoulders, and her tall frame moved about the kitchen gracefully. High cheekbones, a small straight nose and full lips produced an attractive woman, but her eyes were her most startling feature, they were almond shaped and bright luminous green.

As I said, I’m a Police Detective with the Major Crime Squad and I’m working on a case at the moment that I thought you might be able to help us with.

How did you find me, Stephanie?

I overheard a woman singing your praises in a coffee shop, well whispering them anyway, I asked her about you.

I see. You don’t believe what the woman told you, do you. Stephanie hesitated, not quite sure of the truth of that statement. I would like to believe it, Miss Callahan.

Call me, Megan.

"Megan, can you find things and see into the past?"

Why don’t I ask you instead, why you would seek me out if you are sceptical of my so-called abilities?

We are at a dead end with this case, and it’s becoming desperate. What the woman at the café told me convinced me just enough to try. I would rather not become involved with the Police or anything else that could become public. I’m a private person and would like to keep it that way.

I understand, but a little girl is missing, kidnapped from her bedroom without a trace, not a single clue, no prints, no fibres, nothing and we’ve come up against a brick wall. Her parents are quite wealthy, and we expected a ransom note to follow the girl’s disappearance, but nothing. She was taken four days ago, the parents are frantic and to be honest, we don’t know where else to turn. Stephanie let Megan think for a minute before adding, She’s only three years old Megan, and I don’t want to find her in a shallow grave somewhere, but the longer she’s missing, the more chance there is, that is exactly where we’ll find her.

Megan placed two cups on the table; both were empty. She walked to the unfinished painting and ran a gentle finger over the man’s sad image. Sighing deeply, she turned to re-join Stephanie at the table after picking up the possum to place the creature in her lap, her hand resting on the injured leg.

Will the parents mind if I visit the little girl’s room? Stephanie winced and tried carefully to explain her concerns.

I have to clear this with my partner and to be honest; I don’t think he’s going to like it. Plus, I need to talk to the parents, this is not exactly police procedure, and I could get my butt kicked for even suggesting something like this, no offence.

I understand. Most people don’t believe a thing unless there is undeniable proof. I’m afraid I can’t even explain it to you. I don’t know how it works myself.

So, you are a true psychic?

I don’t know what a true psychic is, I only know that when I touch objects or people, sometimes I can see things, images, or sense feelings. I don’t tell fortunes or read palms and to be honest, I could do without this ability. But sometimes, I am able to help, only then do I come close to appreciating what I can do.

Megan placed the possum gently on the floor, and Stephanie watched in amazement, as it hopped pain and limp free across the floor and into the box to settle down to sleep. She could only stare dumbfounded at a gently smiling Megan.

How about that cup of tea now, I seem to have forgotten to make it.

Yeah. Yeah, sure. Stephanie shook her head in wonder and glanced around the cluttered room, her gaze continually drawn back to the painting on the easel. She stood and walked over to the artwork, bending closer to get a better look at the frame in the man’s hands; it was blank canvas. Curious, she asked Megan.

What does the empty frame in his hands mean? Megan looked back across the room to stare with a frown at the painting.

I don’t know yet. She shrugged her shoulders and gave a little laugh saying, Sometimes I never know what is going to appear on the canvas.

Stephanie knew now what Jenny at the Café meant, Megan was a weird one. Nice, but weird.

Megan, on second thoughts, don’t worry about the tea, I’m already in trouble with my partner, if I keep him waiting much longer, he’ll really throw a fit. Let me discuss my idea with him, and we’ll see how receptive the parents will be to this. I’ll get back to you the minute I can get it all set up. Can you give me your phone number? Megan dug around in a draw at the table and came away with a card.

You do realise that even if the parents agree to let me try, there is no guarantee I will be of any help. It’s far from an exact science, well, maybe not science at all. She said.

Stephanie turned to look at Megan with a quizzical look to find Megan grinning crookedly. So, a quirky sense of humour as well.

I understand that, but you have to try. Megan followed Stephanie to the front door, and as Stephanie walked towards her car, Megan called out.

What is the little girl’s name?

Emma, Emma Burrows. Stephanie climbed into her car, but before pulling away from the curb, she looked back to see Megan standing where she had left her. With her eyes closed and her body deathly still, the seemingly wild possum hopped down from the front step to curl itself around her feet.

Weird, definitely weird.

Two

You had better have a bloody good reason for taking off like that. Darcy grouched at Stephanie as she walked into their office at Curtin House in the city. Her still rumpled appearance told him she hadn’t been