So, I did the only thing I could think of. I plunged right in, perhaps stupidly or perhaps even bravely. I said, “I’m here about Penny Laurie.”
He didn’t miss a beat. He continued shoving papers into his file holder. Or was he shoving them in a little harder now? With a little more vigor, perhaps? Probably not, but after a few seconds of what I thought was him clearly thinking through the situation, he began shaking his head sadly.
“A tragedy,” he said, still shaking his head. Still shoving papers in his file.
To me, his reaction wasn’t normal. Although not a trained investigator but a human who had seen her fair share of people on this planet, I felt that his reaction was calculated.
Or maybe I had convinced myself that this guy was bad news, and was looking for anything to validate that assumption.
Maybe.
Or perhaps, I was just frustrated that I wasn’t getting any help from Millicent. Hell, even from Penny herself. No, I wasn’t a medium, but that certainly hadn’t stopped Millicent from reaching out to me.
I needed help here. I was in over my head.
But I wasn’t getting it. It was just me and Mr. Fletcher, and my own psychic intuition. My specialty of remote viewing wouldn’t do me much good here. But my other, less reliable, skills were letting me know that there was something here to be wary of.
I could feel the latent buried within the classroom walls, the desks, the carpeted floor. Fear, I knew, had an energy signature that imprints deeply into the environment. So did love. So did death.
But it was fear that I was feeling now.
“Yes, a tragedy,” I said, heart racing.
“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Fletcher, finally looking up from his folder. He idly held a stack of papers in his hand. “Who are you again?”
“I’m a friend of the family,” I said. Yes, I had thought long and hard about just how to answer that very question. It was the best reply I had.
“Like I said,” he said, shaking his head sadly, “it’s a tragedy, but I do need to get going soon.”
“You were one of the last adults to see her alive, Mr. Fletcher, so do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Actually, I do. Her murder has troubled me deeply, and, quite frankly, I haven’t been the same since. I would rather not open old wounds.”
Now, he shoved the entire bulging file folder into a leather satchel, which he slung over one shoulder. He was leaving and he wasn’t talking. I knew I needed to say something that would keep him talking or get some kind of a reaction from him. “I’m sorry to open old wounds, Mr. Fletcher.”
Now he was coming toward me. His shoulders seemed broader now, and he certainly didn’t look like any teacher I would want my kids to have, if I had kids.
But I stood my ground, standing before the door and blocking it. “As it turned out, she didn’t go directly home after school.”
He said nothing, just continued coming toward me.
“I suspect she went to a nearby park, perhaps even the park she was dumped in. You see, she was mad at her mom, and didn’t want to go home. Maybe she thought she would be punished if she went home. I believe she was at this park when she met her killer, a man.”
He stopped before me. He was shaking and doing all he could to control himself. His nostrils flared out. That he had anger issues was an understatement. “And you know this how?”
“I’m a psychic, Mr. Fletcher.”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t shrug it off. He didn’t do anything that one might expect.
Instead, his eyes darkened and he seemed to lower his shoulders a little more. He wanted to attack, I sensed it, could feel it, see it. And if he did, I knew there was nothing I could do to protect myself. Or, mostly nothing. I still had a knee, and he still had a groin.
Instead, after a moment of staring me down with nothing but hate, he said, “Watch your back.”
Then he brushed past me, and was gone.
Chapter Twenty-six
I was shaking.
Shaking and shaken. Jesus, I thought, as I headed back to my car. Had I just confronted a killer? A real killer?
I had; I was certain of it.
My legs were still feeling a bit wobbly as I passed teachers and other staff walking the various hallways, and passed the occasional errant kid who was, I suspected, here for some after-school program or other. The parking lot was mostly empty, too, although there was a smattering of cars and some kids hanging out near the front entrance with a stern-looking woman. Late parents, I suspected. The woman, who had a very vice-principally feel to her, wasn’t pleased.
Where Mr. Fletcher had gone off to, I didn’t know, but as I drew closer to the parking lot, and as the stern-looking woman turned to glance at me, a cold wind blasted over me. And I mean blasted. I shivered violently. The stern woman frowned at me. Apparently, shivering was frowned upon at Clover Field Elementary.
I’d experienced such sensations before, and many of my psychic friends would tell me that such unexpected blasts of cold air were spirit activity. I didn’t know, but I appeared to be the only one affected. I smiled weakly at the woman and slipped past her and the kids and into the parking lot.
Samantha Moon had told me that she possessed a sort of inner warning system. A warning system that actually sounded in her head when danger was near. I suspected that all vampires had this, as, according to her, it was the earliest indicator that she had any psychic abilities. I didn’t have such an audible warning system. But something was going on with me now. Most notably, the hair on my arms was standing on end.
‘Watch your back,’ Mr. Fletcher had said.
As I moved through the parking lot, aware that something was happening around me, aware that the very air around me seemed to be crackling with electrical energy—spirit energy—I shoved my hands in my pockets, hunched my shoulders and headed for my Accord.
Something’s going to happen, I suddenly thought.
I was on high alert, reaching out with all the psychic skills I had. Most curious was that I was feeling a buildup in energy around me. A different kind of energy. Nature energy. Universal energy. It was gathering around me, swarming around, filling me.
What the hell is happening?
Somewhere nearby, I heard a car’s engine rev loudly. Wait, not nearby.
Directly behind me.
I spun in time to see a Ford Mustang peel around a turn in the parking lot. Although the windows were tinted, I could still see Mr. Fletcher behind the wheel.
The car came at me shockingly fast, bounding, veritably leaping forward. I could dive to the side, yes, but he could turn the steering wheel, too.