Charmed To Death Part 21

"What else would you call it? It's been five years since Brian was killed? And you still still haven't caught his killer. I'd think you'd be grateful for new information." haven't caught his killer. I'd think you'd be grateful for new information."

"Give me information I can use to catch him and I will be," he said. "Nothing you've told me does that."

"I don't have any more information, but I will. I seem to have this weird mental connection with him. He's in my dreams, but I haven't seen his face. I think I am able to sense him, though. The other night, during the thunderstorm, I caught a glimpse of someone standing across the street from my house. I know it was him."

"He's watching you?"

"Yes. And I sense he's getting ready to make some kind of contact with me. There's a reason he's picked me and it's the reason Brian and Gus died."

"Yeah, I came to that conclusion too."

"Do you know why he's focused on me?"

"No. I don't know if I believe we have two different killers, but it doesn't matter how many there are." He stared off into s.p.a.ce, thinking. "You're some sort of link to a killer. Right now the only link. And whether or not you're psychic..." His voice trailed off, and he tossed his hand in the air.

"Does that mean you'll let me help you find him?"

"No, I don't work with civilians."

"But you said I'm a link?"

"That doesn't mean I'm going to let you interfere with the investigation. It means we'll monitor you, watch your house, watch who approaches you," he said, slipping the handcuffs back in his pocket.

"You'll have me tailed?"

"Yeah."

"That's not acceptable. I refuse to cooperate," I said stubbornly.

He made a derisive sound. "Did I indicate you had a choice?"

I glared at him. "There are always choices, Comacho. You have me tailed and I'll figure out a way to lose them. You watch my house and I'll disappear."

"Oh, not only are you psychic, but you're a magician too, huh?"

"Ahh, well not exactly," I said, looking away.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?" he asked.

I looked back over at him. "Umm-let's just call it a certain sensitivity to the world around me, okay?"

"What in the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind, if I find out you need to know, I'll explain."

"The same way you've explained about being a psychic?"

"You still don't believe me, do you?"

"No."

"Give me your hand."

"What?"

I crossed the distance between us and stood right in front of him. Holding out my hand, I repeated, "Give me your hand."

Reluctantly he extended his hand.

"No, your right hand."

He switched hands.

Taking his right hand in my left, I placed my right hand over our joined hands while my eyelids drifted shut.

I felt Comacho's energy seeping through the cracks in the wall around his mind. Wow, reading him won't be easy. He has a lot of resistance Wow, reading him won't be easy. He has a lot of resistance. I went deeper in my mind, strengthening the link between us.

Incomplete images of his life and his thoughts floated through the wall like pictures moving at a rapid pace across a movie screen. Comacho questioning me five years ago. A soldier in a hot desert. A little dark-haired girl, chasing a red balloon across the park. A young Comacho, in a s.h.i.+ny blue uniform, facing down a man holding a gun. A woman saying good-bye.

I released his hand quickly. His thoughts of the woman were too private for me to intrude. Shaking my head to clear the vision, I looked up at Comacho.

His face wore a stunned expression.

Comacho's appearance didn't surprise me-reading someone always scrambles their brain a little. I gave him a moment to collect himself before I spoke.

"There's a young girl you're fond of, a close relative, daughter, maybe. She's about four and she was chasing a red balloon across the park. You watched, laughing."

"My niece-last Sunday-I took her to the park. Her balloon got away from her. How did you know?"

"I read your thoughts. By the way, you have quite a wall up around your mind and you're hard to read. But do you believe me now?"

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. This is strange." Comacho's mouth tightened and he exhaled a long breath. "Okay, I'll think about what you've told me."

"You'll let me help?"

"I didn't say help; help; I said I'd think about it." He squinted and looked at me sternly. "But if you get yourself killed, don't blame me," he said. I said I'd think about it." He squinted and looked at me sternly. "But if you get yourself killed, don't blame me," he said.

"I won't, I promise," I said, relief bubbling inside me.

Yes. He agreed. He wasn't going to lock me up or put a call in to the nearest psych ward. And I was, at last, taking some action to find the killer. Joining forces with Comacho would work, it had to work.

"Right now, I'm going back to the hospital to check on Abby, but may I call you later? There's something I want to try. It might help me see the killer more clearly," I said.

Comacho rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "If I weren't desperate to find this guy, I'd..." He looked back at me and shook his head. Reaching in his pocket, he handed me his card. "Yeah, call me. My cell number's on this."

"Umm. I'd appreciate if you didn't share this information with Bill," I said, taking the card. "It would be sure to leak out somehow and I don't want the whole town to know I'm psychic. I have enough problems without that."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not telling anyone about you you."

As I walked away, I looked over my shoulder at him.

"One last thing. About what I saw in your mind-I think you have a nice b.u.t.t too, Comacho."

Chapter Twenty-Four.

After leaving Comacho, I went to the hospital to check on Abby. The room was empty, except for Abby lying quietly in the bed.

I stood over the bed and looked down at her while I took her hand in mine. The hand felt frail and lifeless as I smoothed the skin over fragile bones.

"You're still in there, aren't you, Abby?" I asked, staring at her and stroking her hand. "I felt you. I heard your voice. I almost did it. Almost went against everything you've taught me."

I stopped talking and, closing my eyes, I remembered the power I'd felt there on the hilltop. My hand holding Abby's tingled with the memory.

"I've never felt anything like it. The energy was like a beast pulling at its chain. It would've been so easy to slip that chain, Abby. Set the beast loose to find the evil. Find justice for you and Brian. But it would've been wrong. I would have been using my gift for my own purpose." A tear snaked down my cheek. "Thank you for stopping me."

Suddenly I felt a slight pressure from her fingers. She was trying to squeeze my hand.

Before I reacted, the door swung wide and a nurse walked into the room.

"She's waking up," I said, whirling away from the bed toward the nurse. "She tried to squeeze my hand."

"I'll get a doctor," she said and hurried from the room, her rubber soles squeaking on the polished tile.

Moments later she was back, accompanied by Abby's doctor.

I stepped aside when the doctor approached the bed.

"She squeezed my hand," I said, not able to keep the excitement out of my voice.

"Well, let's take a look," he said, putting his stethoscope in his ears. "It could've been an involuntary response, but we'll see."

I stood silently while he examined Abby.

"Vitals are good," he said and took Abby's hand in his. "Abby can you hear me? Abby, squeeze my hand."

Nothing. No movement at all.

The doctor leaned closer. "Abby, squeeze my hand."

My fingers curled in tight fists while I waited and watched. No response and the disappointment rushed through me.

The doctor shook his head slowly. "Sorry," he said. "But her heart's strong and her lungs are clear, which is good. We'll continue to keep a close eye on her condition."

I numbly watched Abby, while the doctor moved toward the door of the silent room.

A moan broke the silence, a moan that came from Abby.

The doctor heard the sound, too, and returned to Abby's bedside. "Abby, can you hear me?" he asked in a voice that echoed in the quiet.

Abby's eyes shot open, as if startled, but they quickly shut again.

"Great. She's showing response to loud noises," he said, smiling. Picking up Abby's hand, he pinched the end of her finger.

Her hand jerked back and the doctor's smile grew wider.

"Good motor response." He turned to the nurse. "Her level of responsiveness is increasing."

I almost fell to my knees in relief, but his next words brought me out of it.

"She's not out of danger yet. And we have no idea how much brain damage there might be. But the signs indicate she's waking up."

"But the prognosis is good?" I asked desperately.

The doctor gave me a kind look. "The prognosis is positive."

The door glided open and my mother walked in.

"Mom," I said and hurried over to her. "Abby squeezed my hand and opened her eyes for a second."

My mother wrapped her arms around me in a big hug. "Thank G.o.d." Releasing me, she patted my face and smiled.

"Now, Mrs. Jensen," the doctor said, holding up his hand, "as I explained to your daughter, her responses are a good indication she's waking up, but until she does-"

"I understand, Doctor," Mother broke in, "but her condition is better than it was twenty-four hours ago?"

"Yes."

"Well, we'll focus on that for now."

"I don't want you to expect too much or have any false hopes," he said cautiously.

"We won't."

The doctor pursed his lips and nodded while he moved toward the door. "Good."

The nurse followed him, but stopped at the door. Reaching in her pocket, she pulled out an ivory envelope and held it out to me. "I found this laying on the floor near the door while you were both out. I imagine one of the aides dropped it when she brought your grandmother's flowers in."

"Thank you," I said, taking the envelope.

Mother had crossed to Abby's bed and was silently stroking Abby's hand.

When I joined her, she gazed over at me. "Did you find your answers?"