Terror Cards

By Hilary J. Sandoval III

TERROR CARDS
Griselda Lopez a seemingly nondescript psychic and tarot card reader by trade is a suspect in a brutal murder of a local internet millionaire in the West Texas city of El Paso. Unbeknownst to veteran homicide detective Phil Ramirez, eighteen years earlier she orchestrated perhaps the perfect crime. No murder weapon, no provable evidence and no actual murderer. Yet it was a premeditated, well-planned scheme to take the life of another for financial gain. Ramirez's search for justice would lead him on a desperate, harrowing journey that would challenge his faith in a higher benevolent power, question his own sanity, tempt him to violate his long-held values and break the very law he so proudly swore to uphold. In Griselda Lopez, otherwise known as the Tarot Lady, he would face his most nightmarish adversary. Would the highly decorated investigator find justice in the cards? Or will the Tarot Lady deal him a hand that brings his stellar career to a shameful, disgraced and terrifying end?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667854380

Book preview

The Fortune Teller and the Detective

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. She had no proof, only a feeling. A troubled intuition that prevented her from sleeping until well into the early morning hours. Of course, Maria Alcantar had experienced similar feelings before. A foreboding sense of impending doom, a terrible accident or the misfortune of a loved one. Only to discover she worried needlessly, letting fear take the helm of her imagination. But this felt different. An undeniable sensitivity in the pit of her stomach. A sense of anxiousness that kept her awake for most of the night.

As a home healthcare nurse dealing with cancer patients, she had been exposed to dying and death. Would this be the day she found Edward Stenovitch, her favorite patient, losing his valiant battle to lung cancer?

Taking a deep breath and hoping for the best, she let herself in with her own key through the stunning entrance of the internet millionaire’s spacious home. Seeing a light peeking through the doorway of his home office, below the large winding stairway that dominated the foyer area, she prayed silently to herself before calling out to announce her presence, Eddie, I’m here. No answer.

Making her way towards his office she noticed water beneath her shoes. Oh God I hope the fish tank didn’t spring a leak. As she neared his office the water began to take on a pinkish hue. With each step the water darkened.

Freezing in her steps, the sight before her was paralyzing; her heart began racing and her body trembled in terror. Her premonition was confirmed, but not by the ravages of cancer, it was something far more insidious.

She saw what was surely Stenovitch’s body lying in a pool of blood and water leaking from the large aquarium in his office. Where his head should be was a grotesquely swollen mass of crimson red, speckled with gray chunks of brain matter, leaving what was left of his face completely unrecognizable. Her loud, frightened scream started a chorus of dogs barking in the usually quiet upscale neighborhood.

A slew of phone calls to Griselda Lopez from Stenovitch’s cell phone on the day of his brutal murder brought veteran homicide detective Phil Ramirez to the residence of the self-proclaimed psychic and tarot card reader. Lopez worked out of her modest home on the west side of El Paso, Texas, only a few short miles from the foot of the Franklin Mountains, which divides parts of the city in half.

He immediately noticed her eyes. If you were one of her many followers who found her charming, her eyes appeared exotic, beguiling. If she was an enemy of yours, her eyes seemed soulless, lacking any trace of warmth. She suffered from an eye disorder known as aniridia, which caused her eyes to look jet black, as if she had no iris. Her dark liquid eyes were intense, seeming quick to anger. Matching her eyes was a thick dark head of hair that came to her shoulders.

Possibly in her mid-fifties, maybe younger, she wasn’t attractive in a conventional way, but there was something about her that made men and women alike take a second look. She was tall, five feet, nine inches, ten to fifteen pounds over her preferred weight. She carried it well, as the extra weight accentuated her curvaceous shape. Her voice had a deep, raspy timbre adding a sultry, sensuous quality to her overall appearance.

If you were to describe the personality of Griselda Lopez, otherwise known as the Tarot Lady, in just one word, that word would be insatiable. Her appetite in life was ravenous. Unquenchable, possessed by a never-ending hunger for more. Money, sex, drugs, whatever she found pleasurable, she would devour. It mattered not what her chosen pleasure of the moment may be; she was a force of nature in striving to sate the unfulfillable abyss that was her need for gratification.

Her relentless lust for more lacked any semblance of a moral compass. She was smart, cunning, charming, manipulative and bereft of any empathy for those who suffered in the path of destruction she would often leave. Her unfortunate victims included all four of her ex-husbands, countless lovers, friends and—unbelievably—her own children. Lying, cheating, stealing and, yes, even cold-blooded murder were all justifiable means to her selfish ends. Guilt or remorse had no place in her manner of thinking. In narcissistic fashion, she held the belief that life would bow to her voracious appetite.

Ironically her hedonistic thirst for pleasure left her empty inside. Her soul lacked the nourishment of love, compassion and kindness. Much like an unused muscle her soul had atrophied, withering away from the absence of true love.

Her masters in life were the seven deadly sins of greed, lust, pride, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth. It has been said that these specific transgressions are deadly because they lead to the death of the soul.

Detective Ramirez, a native El Pasoan, served in the Los Angeles Police Department for seventeen years before returning to his hometown for the last seven years. In the LAPD he earned acclaim as one of the top homicide detectives in the country. He received national attention for being the lead investigator in solving the Little Tokyo Slasher case, a murder spree that struck terror in the hearts and minds of Japanese-Americans in downtown Los Angeles for over a year.

Approaching his forty-eighth birthday, at times Ramirez appeared older. Countless sleepless nights, drowning out his demons all too often with alcohol, empty casual relationships and neglecting his health contributed to his weathered look.

His eyes often seemed tired, sometimes red. His once full mane of dark brown hair was now beginning to thin, checkered with streaks of gray. At six feet tall, he was still relatively lean, looking as if he had been an athlete in his younger days.

As a homicide detective he had seen more than his fair share of death. Underneath his dark, steely eyes and stoic demeanor, the years of dealing with the devastation of murder and the grieving families left behind had started to eat away at the hardened, businesslike facade he did his best to portray.

His detached, professional appearance did not fool Mike Harrelson, his commanding officer while in Los Angeles. Harrelson often compared Ramirez to the duck gliding along effortlessly across a pond, while underneath the duck’s feet are paddling away frantically. He cautioned Ramirez that his obsessive nature in righting all the world’s wrongs was going to take a heavy toll on his well-being.

Ramirez took some comfort in providing a needed service to the victim’s loved ones. Justice does provide a measure of consolation; however, it is not a panacea for coping with the loss of a loved one. This left him discontented, unsatisfied. He wanted to do more. A murderer sitting behind bars for the rest of his life doesn’t fill the hole in the heart of someone who lost a child, he often thought.

His discontent was exacerbated by the fact that early on in his career he was forced to take the life of a young man. The mandatory counseling did little to assuage his guilt and remorse. During his sessions he was diagnosed with PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder).

His all-consuming dedication to his career and the negative impact of the PTSD had cost him two marriages, with each wife claiming his career was his mistress.

Aware that he had paid a heavy price for his career, he had tendered his resignation, effective at the end of the year. The Stenovitch case would be his final investigation. Those close to him were happy to hear of his imminent retirement. They were deeply concerned for him, fearing that he was teetering on the edge of mental collapse.

After briefly exchanging pleasantries, Lopez led him through a narrow hallway in her home to the reading room. Ramirez wrinkled his nose, correctly assuming the cause of her deep, throaty voice. The room reeked of stale cigarettes. The vanilla incense burning did little to mask the rancid smell. The space was cluttered with all colors of crystals and candles. In the middle of the area was a small circular table, covered by a cheap red tablecloth. On top of the table was a crystal ball, several packs of tarot cards, more crystals and candles. Four tightly spaced chairs surrounded the table.

She asked the detective nicely to have a seat. Although he had never visited a psychic before, the very idea of paranormal powers intrigued him. As an investigator he often relied on his gut feelings. And his gut feelings were telling him that there was something unsettling about Griselda Lopez. He couldn’t quite articulate in his mind what he felt uncomfortable with, but his senses detected something sinister about her.

Edward Stenovitch was found dead yesterday morning in his home, he said directly staring into her eyes. His phone records show that he called you a great deal over the last few years. Was he a client of yours?

His eyes penetrated her as if attempting to look into her soul. She was briefly taken by surprise by his directness and expressionless face. As she was formulating her answer the silence was deafening.

Although the moment was tense, she maintained her composure. Lying had been a way of life for her. She had turned deceit into an art form. She was highly skilled at manipulating people, controlling them and then discarding them once they no longer served her needs.

She was also not above casting evil spells, hexes and calling upon the dark forces to harm those she viewed as enemies. In her mind Detective Ramirez was now her enemy for having the temerity to dare question her.

Unbeknownst to the detective, eighteen years earlier she had orchestrated perhaps the perfect crime. No murder weapon, no provable evidence and no actual murderer. Technically it couldn’t be classified as a murder; however, it was a premediated, well-planned scheme to take the life of another for financial gain.

The unimaginable plot had had consequences beyond the loss of life. Not for Griselda, but for her own daughter, who unwittingly abetted the awful plan. Almost two decades later her daughter Adele was still traumatized by the events of that dreadful evening.

Ramirez’s search for justice would lead him on a desperate, harrowing journey that would challenge his faith in a higher, benevolent power, question his own sanity, tempt him to violate his long-held values and break the very law he so proudly swore to uphold.

The Most Fierce of Battles

Do Not Take Place on the Battlefield,

but rather in the Minds of Men

Brenda Martinez, an attractive forty-five-year-old divorcee, was lonely, severely stressed and desperately searching for an iota of hope. While on errands for the law firm where she was a paralegal, she heard Griselda Lopez on her car radio. Something about the Tarot Lady’s sense of humor, her charm and her back-and-forth banter with the host of the program, Bobby Atkins, appealed to her. She listened carefully as callers phoned into the show asking about their love lives, careers, finances, health, etc. Griselda answered all their questions in a manner that Brenda thought was helpful and most importantly hopeful. It was the hopefulness of Griselda’s tone that inspired Brenda to call and make an appointment with her.

A petite, second-generation Hispanic woman, Brenda had brownish green eyes, dark silky hair and stood about five feet, three inches in height, with a slim, shapely figure. Her smile and manner were infectious and could warm up the coldest of hearts. With her stunning looks and vivacious personality, she attracted many suitors for her affections.

However, once her admirers discovered the pain behind her bright, endearing smile, the source of distress, they quickly fled. The cause of her emotional strain was the greatest love and source of joy in her life and her most demanding challenge.

She and her ex-husband, Randy Johnson, had a beautiful baby boy named after his father. Brenda and Randy Sr. made a striking couple and passed on their good looks to their son.

Initially the arrival of their son was a cause for great joy and brought the young couple even closer together. Her ex-husband, a college football star entering his senior year at the University of Arizona at the time, was a potential first round draft choice in the National Football League. The university known for its basketball team, rather than football, had become a Pac-12 powerhouse with Johnson at quarterback. Entering his senior year, he had already broken every conference passing record and was closely followed by every NFL scout in the league.

If his senior year was as good as his previous years, it was predicted by NFL experts that he would probably sign a nine-figure contract. He and Brenda could give their newborn child everything he needed.

The dream came to a crashing halt on a warm Saturday evening in Tucson, Arizona. The tackle was violent, as the weight of his own body and the body of his opponent landed with a sickening thud on his left leg. His leg, unable to support the weight, snapped in three places, one of the breaks grotesquely piercing his skin. His speed and mobility would never be the same. In a mere instant his potential multimillion-dollar career came to a tragic end.

His dreams shattered, he turned to alcohol and drugs to drown out the thoughts of his stolen destiny. He grew distant from Brenda, dropped out of school and had trouble holding a job.

Their circumstances worsened as it became apparent that their son was not developing in a normal manner. Brenda longed to hear the word mama for the first time. To Brenda, like her mother, the word mama was magical. However, after three years she had yet to hear the word.

After numerous visits to doctors it was discovered that Randy Junior was mentally challenged with a severe intellectual disability. The diagnosis was grim. According to doctors Randy Junior would never live independently as an adult and would always require supervision.

The news was too much for Randy Sr., escalating his downward spiral with liquor and drugs. After another year of drowning in self-pity, he abandoned his wife and child.

Randy Junior became a strapping young man of twenty-three years. Unfortunately, he had the intellectual capacity of an eight-year-old. He inherited his mother’s bright smile. However, underneath his smile was a young man desperately trying to escape the confines of a child’s mind.

He had the body of a full grown, healthy man. As his father, he was built like a football player. Along with his healthy body he had developed the needs and desires of a man.

Those physical wants created conflict and turmoil in his mind. The child side of him could spend hours on end playing with simple toys. This side of his personality was innocent, sweet and loving.

The struggling young man in him was often depressed, frustrated and angry, prone to violent outbursts, punching holes in the doors and walls of Brenda’s home.

The war being waged in his tortured mind went beyond his physical wants and desires. It was the sense of being different. Oftentimes when his mother visited friends, he was directed to spend time with the children. Although he had a good time with the children of Brenda’s friends, he felt terribly out of place. He knew he was a man playing kids games with children younger than him. It felt horribly wrong to him.

His internal torment reached such a point where thoughts of suicide entered his mind. At the age of twenty-one, the age that he had somehow become aware of being considered an adult, he unsuccessfully attempted suicide.

Although he didn’t attempt to take his life again, the subsequent years of therapy didn’t ease his angst. Frustrated and losing hope for her dear son, Brenda called the Tarot Lady in a desperate attempt to find help for her troubled son. This call would be the single greatest mistake of her life. A grave mistake.

Unrestrained Desire

Griselda Lopez was indeed a slave to the seven deadly sins. The most dominating, most controlling of her vices was lust. Although this specific sin is usually indicative to sexual desire, one can have a lust for money, material goods or power. Those who are driven mainly by their lasciviousness, often view others as mere objects, objects solely for their pleasure and gratification. The literal translation of lust is to obsess or have an unhealthy, all-consuming desire for pleasure. Lust is purely a physical desire and lacks the intimacy and emotions of a meaningful connection between two individuals.

Now after the failure of her fourth marriage, happiness continued to elude Griselda. Her life had become an empty, meaningless search for titillation. She was oblivious that her inability to love and care for others was at the root of her joylessness.

The practice of monogamy never entered her consciousness. She was simply powerless to utter the word no to any opportunity that presented itself to satisfy her needs. Hypocritically she would become apoplectic whenever one of her lovers found pleasure in the arms of another. Her anger wasn’t that she believed a sacred trust had been violated, but rather as an insult to her skills in the bedroom.

Between the sheets she was a flurry of activity. It hardly mattered whether her partner was a man or a woman. Attractive or not. She was insatiable for human flesh. A warm body to have her way with was the ultimate of desires for her voracious, unfulfillable hunger for satisfaction.

In an age of almost countless sexual identities—heterosexual, bisexual, pansexual, allosexual, gay, lesbian, etc.—Griselda simply referred to herself as sexual. For her sex was not an act of intimacy, nor an expression of