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In Her Mind's Eye
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In Her Mind’s Eye
Susan Gnucci
Copyright © 2015, Susan Gnucci
To my good friend, Anne Gafiuk, without whom I never would have been inspired to write
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
SEPTEMBER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
OCTOBER
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
NOVEMBER
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
DECEMBER
Chapter 24
APRIL
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
MAY
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
JUNE
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
JULY
AUGUST
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
PROLOGUE
AUGUST 2010
He was not aware of the intruder at first as the struggling girl demanded his full attention and his frenzied excitement with her was all consuming. It was only the odd sensation of being watched that finally alerted his senses. He was surprised and disturbed at the thought of an interloper, but first he had to get the girl under control and that was proving to be more difficult than he anticipated because she was stronger than she looked. Small as she was, she had been able to break free of his grip and had made a run for it, bolting headlong into the treeline. His chagrin had quickly given way to delight because a chase always added a new dimension to the kill.
It did not take him long to overtake her. Adrenaline and a head start had given her an advantage, but in her panic, she had taken off into the thickest part of woods, no doubt hoping to hide. Foolish girl. Her progress had been hampered by the dense tree cover, and the tinder dry conditions of the underbrush allowed him to track her movements. In a matter of minutes, he had been able to tackle her. And now, just as he was preoccupied in subduing her, he sensed something…someone…
SEPTEMBER
Tess trailed reluctantly after her best friend and roommate, Leah, as they climbed the long flight of steps leading up to their local police station. “They’re going to think I’m some kind of nut,” she muttered with dismay, shaking her head and pausing as if unwilling to proceed any further. Crossing her arms in protest and scowling at her friend, she proceeded to worry her lower lip, a habit she always resorted to whenever she was nervous.
“Listen,” Leah replied as she turned around and began walking back down the steps. “You’ve come this far; you may as well follow it through.” She looped an arm reassuringly through that of her friend, pulling her closer to help bolster her courage. “And you’re not some kind of nut. Tell them about your ability. Tell them about the things you’ve seen.”
“I don’t know if what I have to tell them will be of any help,” Tess sighed wearily, “and I doubt they’ll believe how I know what I know anyway.” Leaning her head toward her friend’s, Tess admitted, “To be honest, I wish I didn’t know.”
“You need to tell them,” Leah insisted as she gently guided her friend up the remaining steps. “Maybe it’ll help them find the creep who killed that poor girl."
“Alright,” Tess sighed in resignation as she pulled away. “Let’s get this over with.” With her mind finally set, she swung open the main entrance door and strode full of purpose into the police station, leaving her best friend to catch up. Leah followed carefully behind, prepared to block Tess’s retreat should she somehow lose her nerve.
As she approached the reception counter, Tess’ determination quickly evaporated. Glancing back to make sure Leah was with her, she was annoyed to discover her friend’s attention had been diverted by two young officers who were exiting the building. Narrowing her eyes and throwing Leah an exasperated look only prompted a shrug of the shoulders from her friend. Tess waited impatiently for Leah to catch up, elbowing her when she did so.
The clerk at the reception counter didn’t even bother to glance up as the two women approached. After several awkward moments, it was Leah who boldly cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Can my friend please speak with a detective?”
When the clerk finally did look up from her paperwork, it was with reluctance, and the condescending stare she gave them set both women on edge. “A detective?” she asked, scrutinizing them over the rim of her glasses as if to say, “Now what do you two need to speak to a detective about?”
Tess drew in a deep breath, but before she could say anything, Leah proudly announced, “My friend has some information about that murder out at Prospect Lake.”
Turning away and rolling her eyes, Tess braced herself, half expecting some bouncer of a cop to be summoned who would toss them unceremoniously out into the street, but instead, the clerk simply took their names and instructed them to take a seat in the lobby. They did as they were told, and as the minutes ticked by, Tess began to fidget nervously while Leah simply managed to look bored.
The police station of their Pacific Northwest city was an imposing granite structure built back in the days when civic buildings were constructed on a grand scale. City halls, fire stations, and libraries were all adorned with columns, clock towers, and other elaborate architectural details, and their local police station was no exception. The massive flight of steps at the front of the building led up to impressive entrance doors that opened into a cavernous, tiled foyer. In addition to the reception counter, there were groupings of comfortable, elegant furniture situated in front of imposing portraits of local dignitaries. It was the type of building people took pride in, its restoration and upkeep lending to the quaint feel of the downtown core.
Tess heaved a sigh and wished for the umpteenth time she had never experienced her most recent ‘sighting’. That’s what she called her episodes because they came upon her much like visions. They were usually precipitated by a nauseous feeling and a distant humming in the back of her head that she likened to a swarm of bees. She would know then to close her eyes and await the scenes that would inevitably play out before her. Typically, they involved an event in the past, but at the time of her sightings, Tess often had no concept of time or place.
Tess thought back to her first experience with her sightings. She had been only ten at the time, too young to understand then, but old enough to realize the accident had fundamentally changed her. The accident. It pained her even now to recall it…
It was on a sleet driven night in the middle of winter when Tess’ family was making their way home from a skiing vacation. A nor’easter descended upon them with little warning that night, trapping them and many other motorists out on the highway. To make matters worse, the drifts were so heavy at that time of year, it was impossible to pull over safely to wait out the storm.
Sleeping in the back seat of the car, Tess was jolted awake by the sound of her mother’s terrified scream and the glare of headlights bearing down upon them. As her eyes widened, her own scream had died in her throat.
Blessedly, the blackness engulfed her at that point, and almost a week passed before she regained consciousness in the hospital. The severity of her injuries initially led doctors to believe her chances for survival were slim at best, but over the following weeks, her young body slowly began to respond and heal. She did not have to be told her parents were dead. She knew it intuitively in the kind, sad way the nurses treated her. When she did not ask; in fact, when she did not speak at all, the doctors’ concerns grew. Despite this, they finally told her of her parents’ fate.
Tess remained in the hospital for almost two months, and in all that time, she never uttered a single word. Specialists and counsellors evaluated her while the police tried to locate a relative who would be willing to take her. Both of Tess’ parents had been only children and because they’d conceived Tess later in life, the only close living relative was a maternal grandmother. This grandmother, however, lay in a nursing home in another province locked in the fog of Alzheimer’s, blissfully unaware of Tess’ condition.
When the hospital staff heard that the younger sister of Tess’ paternal grandmother had come forward, they breathed a sigh of relief. They had all grown attached to the forlorn, withdrawn child, so they were thankful she had a relative to care for her. She still hadn’t spoken, but the belief was she was suffering from some form of post-traumatic stress, and that given the right circumstances – a stable, loving home – she would eventually speak again.
On the day Tess was discharged from the hospital, the young surgeon who had saved her life came to her room to say goodbye. Dr. Elliott Wrightman was a rising star at the hospital – not only was he young and handsome, but his skill as a surgeon was becoming legendary. He had an ego to match, but then most of the hospital staff put up with that as a small price to pay for his talent. He was wed to an equally beautiful woman successful in her own right as a prosecutor with the district attorney’s office. Both came from enormously wealthy families, and together, they were the ultimate power couple. They owned a gorgeous home, drove expensive cars, and traveled to exotic places. They led the kind of life most people can only dream about.
On the day Dr. Wrightman came to say good-bye, he found Tess sitting in a chair in her room, hands folded neatly in her lap, staring fixedly at the dreary winter landscape beyond her window. She did not stir when he entered, so he quietly took a seat, prepared to coax some type of response from her – a goodbye or perhaps even a thank you. They sat in awkward silence for a short time before Tess lifted her earnest face to his. Her eyes sought out his. It was the first time she had actually made eye contact with him, so that fact pleased him immensely. It took a few seconds though before something dawned in him – a subtle awareness – and when it did, his smile of pleasure slowly receded.
In a soft voice, hoarse from lack of use, Tess simply stated, “You shouldn’t hit her.”
The young doctor’s face blanched, and for an instant, he stared at his patient with an odd mixture of horror and wonder. Just then, a nurse interrupted them, whisking into the room with Tess’ discharge papers, prompting the doctor to stumble to his feet to scrawl a quick signature. Unable to face the child’s scrutiny a moment longer, he beat a hasty retreat, red-faced and mumbling, leaving a perplexed nurse shaking her head in his wake.
Less than a year later, the eminent Dr. Wrightman’s career, as well as his perfectly manicured life, was derailed by an attempted murder charge in the near-fatal beating of his lovely wife.
Tess was pulled from her reverie by the sound of a throat clearing. Standing in front of her was a very large, squat man who seemed to be squeezed into his suit in much the same way a sausage is stuffed into its casing. She had no doubt he could easily pop a button simply by flexing a muscle. In fact, he looked more like a sumo wrestler than a cop. This thought made her chuckle, for here was her bouncer cop in the flesh.
“Evening,” he nodded his head curtly. “I’m Detective Baxter. I understand you have some information regarding the Katie Bishop case.” His tone was matter-of-fact as he extended his hand briskly in greeting.
“Well…yes, I was hoping I could speak to someone working on her case. I’m Tessa. Tessa Walker,” Tess replied as she stood up to shake his hand. Despite his size, his grip was not at all what she expected. It was firm, but not overly so, almost as if he made a conscious effort not to crush her hand. In her nervousness, she prayed he would not notice her sweaty palm.
“I’m the lead detective on that investigation. Come with me and we can speak in private,” he instructed her with a terse nod of his head. Sensing Tess’ hesitation, he glanced past her at Leah who sat in the next chair.
“Uh, this is my roommate. She…um…she came with me,” Tess stammered as she flushed with embarrassment.
The burly detective made no further comment; instead, he simply shrugged his shoulders and stated dryly, “If you’ll come with me then.” Turning briskly on his heel, he proceeded down a corridor to the right without even checking to see if Tess was following him. As she hurried after him, Tess threw Leah a baleful glance over her shoulder, but her friend simply gave her the ‘thumbs up’ and pulled out her iPod.
Along the corridor, they passed numerous offices and cubbies on their way to the back of the building. Trailing along after the detective, Tess couldn’t help but gawk at her surroundings. She was fascinated by an insider’s view of an actual police station. Was that dejected man sitting at the desk of a frazzled-looking cop being booked for something? Were there any hookers being hauled in tonight? Where were the jail cells? All of these questions flooded through her mind as she took in the sights and sounds of a typical Friday night at the station. The look the detective gave her was an impatient one when she finally caught up with him at the door to what she presumed was an interrogation room. He motioned for her to enter. Taking a seat, she glanced around the small, airless space – four walls, a table, a few chairs – that was it. Detective Baxter took the opposite seat and wasted no time on pleasantries.
“So, you have some information in the Katie Bishop case, Miss Walker?” He sounded almost rote, as though he was simply going through the motions. Tess had to wonder if he was one of those over-worked cops who hung in there for his pension but whose passion for his work had ebbed away long ago. Or was it simply because it was a Friday night, and he was eager to get home to his wife and kids and enjoy some sense of normalcy from the ugliness he witnessed day-in, day-out? Their city was not a large one by any means, but it had its share of transients, and like anywhere else nowadays, there was a growing drug culture and all the crime that goes along with it. As a result, cops undoubtedly witnessed the worst of human nature and that had to be hard to shake when they headed home at the end of a day.
“I’m…I’m not sure…” she hesitated.
Her response was in
terrupted by a second detective who entered the room and introduced himself. “Good evening,” he acknowledged Tess warmly, extending his hand in greeting. “I’m Detective McLean. I’m working with Detective Baxter on the Katie Bishop case.”
Tess had to crane her neck to look up at him, for at nearly six foot five, Detective McLean seemed to tower over her. His thin, almost lanky frame was such an obvious contrast to the senior detective’s, Tess had to stifle a smile at the thought of their partnership. She was surprised this detective was quite a bit younger than his middle-aged partner. Tess judged him to be in his early-thirties, but then she wasn’t the best at gauging peoples’ ages. His handshake and smile seemed genuine enough though, and she liked him immediately.
“Hello. I’m Tessa Walker.” She smiled tentatively up at him, suddenly tongue-tied.
As his partner settled into a chair, Detective Baxter continued with his line of questioning. “You’re not sure you have any information, Miss Walker?” He managed to sound both puzzled and annoyed at the same time. Tess figured he was the type of person who didn’t suffer fools lightly.
“That’s not what I started to say,” she corrected him. “It’s just I’m not sure you’re going to believe the information I have.” She sighed heavily at this point, looking first at one detective and then the other before admitting, “Look, I’m really nervous. Could you please just call me Tess?” She found it hard to hold their gaze for any length of time, so she stared fixedly at her hands, preoccupied with a ring on her finger, spinning it distractedly. Feeling extraordinarily foolish, she tried to collect her thoughts. How was she ever going to explain something so intangible to two such rational men? After all, being detectives, surely they would expect some kind of concrete evidence, wouldn’t they? Admittedly, she had nothing of the sort to offer them.
“No problem, Tess. Take your time. We’re in no rush.” Detective McLean’s response was surprisingly reassuring.
Tess looked up and flashed him a weak smile. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she spoke in a soft voice, “A month ago, I saw something really awful. It scared me.”
In Her Mind's Eye