‹ Prequel: Beyond
Status: Last story in the Avidity trilogy.
Sinister
Pieces
This case was taking pieces of Charlotte with it. I could see it every time she talked about John. But I couldn't tell her. She would just accuse me of being too close, because all I wanted to do was protect her, to make sure he didn't hurt her.
Dating not only a detective, but also one with psychic abilities was stressful, and I know she realized that too. I also know that she would do anything to make sure that our killer ended up in the ground, and she wanted to be the one to do it. Her anger and guilt about all of the other victims fueled her, and that's what we needed to bring the bastard down.
When she told me she had tapped into John's thoughts, I felt like I was right back in New York, on the first day she told me what she could do. I didn't believe her then, she had to show me proof. And she did just that.
"You're joking, right?" I asked, smiling. "That's funny, Char. Really."
My first mistake.
She blinked at me, tied her auburn hair back, and said softly, "It's not a joke, Scott. I can show you. Just hand me something."
I looked at the empty Chinese food containers on the table and laughed. "I don't believe this shit, you know that. You're just trying to pull one over on me. Sorry to say that it won't work."
She flinched. "Didn't you ever wonder why I got headaches after handling papers and phone calls all the time?"
"Because it's stressful," I offered.
"God, Scott, no. It's because I get visions so bad they make my head want to explode." She stood and grabbed her coat. "You know what? Whatever. I figured you couldn't deal with this. And I guess this makes breaking up easier."
"Wait." My hand wrapped around her wrist. "What are you talking about?"
"Scott, don't." She tried to pull away, but I held her, crushing her against my jacket, her fingers gripping the fabric. "Oh God," she whispered frantically.
That was my second mistake, because she crumbled into me, almost as though she'd passed out. I shook her, panicked, and her eyes fluttered open. She pressed a hand to her head and groaned. I set her down on the couch and she looked at me.
"I knew there was something weird about that jacket, why you always wore it." Her voice was soft, her eyes glazed. "It used to be Bridget's."
It was like stones were dropped into the pit of my stomach at her words. Because she couldn't know that I had kept my dead ex girlfriend's jacket. I never told her that part.
"Fuck," I muttered.
From that day, I never questioned her again
Dating not only a detective, but also one with psychic abilities was stressful, and I know she realized that too. I also know that she would do anything to make sure that our killer ended up in the ground, and she wanted to be the one to do it. Her anger and guilt about all of the other victims fueled her, and that's what we needed to bring the bastard down.
When she told me she had tapped into John's thoughts, I felt like I was right back in New York, on the first day she told me what she could do. I didn't believe her then, she had to show me proof. And she did just that.
"You're joking, right?" I asked, smiling. "That's funny, Char. Really."
My first mistake.
She blinked at me, tied her auburn hair back, and said softly, "It's not a joke, Scott. I can show you. Just hand me something."
I looked at the empty Chinese food containers on the table and laughed. "I don't believe this shit, you know that. You're just trying to pull one over on me. Sorry to say that it won't work."
She flinched. "Didn't you ever wonder why I got headaches after handling papers and phone calls all the time?"
"Because it's stressful," I offered.
"God, Scott, no. It's because I get visions so bad they make my head want to explode." She stood and grabbed her coat. "You know what? Whatever. I figured you couldn't deal with this. And I guess this makes breaking up easier."
"Wait." My hand wrapped around her wrist. "What are you talking about?"
"Scott, don't." She tried to pull away, but I held her, crushing her against my jacket, her fingers gripping the fabric. "Oh God," she whispered frantically.
That was my second mistake, because she crumbled into me, almost as though she'd passed out. I shook her, panicked, and her eyes fluttered open. She pressed a hand to her head and groaned. I set her down on the couch and she looked at me.
"I knew there was something weird about that jacket, why you always wore it." Her voice was soft, her eyes glazed. "It used to be Bridget's."
It was like stones were dropped into the pit of my stomach at her words. Because she couldn't know that I had kept my dead ex girlfriend's jacket. I never told her that part.
"Fuck," I muttered.
From that day, I never questioned her again