Page 5 of Hidden Monsters

Traffic started moving again at a snail’s pace when she felt the sudden intake of Luke’s breath. His rage assailed her but it was his resignation that saddened her. She dug her fingers into the material of her dress at her thighs and steeled herself for what was about to happen. She had been inside people’s minds when they died but only once when someone was shot. Images of that woman Russell killed haunted her as she fought to stay focused on Luke. Russell had shot her point blank just like Luke was about to get shot. The pain had been searing but momentary, and then the woman was gone. She wondered if it would be the same for Luke. She didn’t want Luke to die but she’d done everything she could to help him.

“What are you doing?” Russell asked, as if he’d caught her in the act of some barbaric crime.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, knowing that answer would never fly with him. But she didn’t want to leave Luke alone. If Luke was killed the same way that woman was, the void that would come over her mind after his death would be as if he never existed.

She reached out to him, wanting to offer as much comfort as she could. If these were his final moments and hers were to be the last words he heard, she wanted them to be filled with hope. I’m here with you, Luke. You’re not alone.

“Who the hell is in your head now?” Russell demanded. “Is that why you left me alone at our table?”

Orly snapped her head in Russell’s direction, Luke’s fear still coursing through her. “You weren’t alone and I was only gone for a few minutes,” Orly explained quickly. “I drank too much punch, and I had to use the restroom.”

Russell looked like he was going to restart his tirade but traffic started moving and his attention returned to the road, buying her some time to focus on Luke. Not that it really mattered. There was absolutely nothing Russell could say or do right now to make her leave Luke alone.

She still didn’t know if anyone was even on the way to help Luke. As powerful as her ability was, it was moments like these that she felt absolutely helpless and Russell’s callous words about her being evil and a witch came alive in her mind. If she couldn’t use her ability to help people, did it mean she was evil? Was she some kind of witch with strange powers she had no control over? That wouldn’t just make her evil, it would make her downright dangerous.

The sound of sirens pulled her from her thoughts. She looked around but there were no police or emergency vehicles in sight. The sirens grew louder, followed by screams and shots fired. She was hearing what Luke was hearing. Loosening the tight grip her fingers held on the material of her dress, she breathed out a sigh of relief. Hear that? You’re going to be okay.

Luke’s relief matched her own and she had to look away again or Russell would see the emotion on her face. A gentle hand touched Luke’s shoulder and by the way he felt about whoever was there with him, she knew he was indeed safe.

Satisfied that she’d helped one more person without Russell catching on, Orly relaxed into her seat. She tried to release the connection to Luke like she did with all the others but the pull toward him wasn’t letting up. Luke was fighting to hang on to her. To their connection.

Even as he succumbed to unconsciousness and his thoughts sank into the deeper recesses of his mind, he still clung on to her. Please, who are you? How do I thank you? His tone was soft and pleading, but there was a strength in it Orly wished she could lose herself in. And for the first time in her life, Orly was almost tempted to tell a complete stranger who she was. But the fleeting moment passed and Luke’s thoughts faded to the outskirts of her mind. He really was holding on to her, even in unconsciousness.

Orly had no idea what that meant. There had only ever been one other person who’d maintained a connection with her and he was the very worst of humanity.

Luke was obviously nothing like that, but it left Orly with a strange feeling.

Chapter 3

Luke awoke to bright lights and a buzz of activity around him. He struggled to open his eyes and when he tried to sit up, was quickly met with resistance. “Don’t do that,” a firm female voice said. “You’re in the hospital and we’re giving you something for the pain, but you need to lie still or you’ll tear your stitches.”

Luke held onto the voice for a moment, but it was all wrong. Had he imagined the other voice while in that warehouse? She never did tell him who she was or how she knew about him. He thought about asking his colleagues how they knew where to find him, how they’d gotten there at the exact moment to save his sorry ass, but she’d obviously not wanted to bring attention to herself for whatever reason, so he’d keep his mouth shut.At least for now.

Trying to lie still as the nurse checked his vitals and fussed over his blanket, he pondered her reasons for anonymity. Most psychics wanted their names and faces splashed across the news when they helped solve a case. The media attention was intoxicating and the best kind of PR they could ever ask for. It drummed up business for them, validated their gift, and brought in book and movie deals. So why wouldn’t this woman want her name to be known?

Unless she had been a figment of his imagination. A last escape before his impending death. Only he hadn’t died. He was alive, and despite the pain coursing through his body that the pain medicine wasn’t quite dulling, he assumed that with some rest, he would make a full recovery.

Whoever the voice in his head was had undoubtedly saved him. No one knew where he was going or what he was doing that night. Unless someone in the gang had decided to call the police, but no, they wouldn’t do that. Over the course of the six months he’d been undercover with them, he’d had the displeasure of meeting all of those bastards and none of them had a compassionate bone in their body.

Luke licked his dry lips as his thoughts drifted back to the voice. He recalled how warm and sweet it was, and he desperately wanted it to be real. Are you still there? Can you hear me? He didn’t know if she would hear him, much less answer him, but he had to try in the hope that she would.

A knock at the door had Luke clearing his throat and pushing the button on the remote to raise the head of the bed up. “Come in.” His mouth felt like sandpaper, but he didn’t see any water nearby. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there thinking about his mystery woman. The nurse had obviously long since left. Maybe he’d drifted off or something without even realizing it.

When the door opened, his Aunt Bea practically flew into the room, her white hair perfectly pinned at the nape of her neck, her make up flawless, and her manicured hands already reaching for him. “Oh, my poor sweet boy. What did those scoundrels do to you?” His father’s spunky sister always knew how to make him smile. Luke particularly liked hearing her call The Vultures - scoundrels. It was a fitting description.

Doing his best to downplay his injuries for her, Luke forced a chuckle, but the stabs of pain from his bruised ribs had him wincing. “I’ll be fine, Aunt Bea. How are you doing? You didn’t have to come all this way for me.” She lived a good forty five minute drive away from the hospital and wasn’t a big fan of driving on the freeway due to her declining eyesight. Luke always tried to drive herwhenever she needed to use the freeway, so he worried that she’d driven here on her own. “How did you get here? Tell me you didn’t drive yourself.”

Aunt Bea carefully took his hand in her much warmer one like he was made of fine porcelain. It was in such contrast to the way he’d been handled the last few days that it almost made him laugh. “I drove,” she said, lifting her chin. “And don’t worry, I went to the eye doctor last week and got my prescription renewed. I’ll be perfectly fine to take care of myself while you recover. I’m in great shape. After all, I walk four miles every day. Two in the morning, and one in the evening when my neighbor, Greta, drags me out to walk with her for her nightly moonlight therapy, whatever that is.” Aunt Bea rolled her eyes.

Luke smiled but failed to see what walking had to do with driving, then raised an eyebrow, realizing her math wasn’t adding up. “Aunt Bea, that’s only three miles.”

She took a step back as if taking offense to his comment. “Well, I also count all the back and forth I do in that big old house of mine. I never thought being forgetful could be an asset but it really adds up when it comes to my step counter.”

Luke held back a chuckle and stared up at the woman who’d gotten him through some of the hardest times in his life. “I shouldn’t be down for too long,” he said.

She patted his hand and after he reassured her multiple times that he was indeed going to be alright, she sat in the chair at his bedside and brought him up to speed about all the women in her knitting club. Fay was excited about her second grandchild due next month. Martha was tired of her husband leaving his socks on the living room floor and blaming it on his bad back. Joanie was thinking about switching doctors because she didn’t like what hers had said about her arthritis pain getting worse. And Cora was about to start chemotherapy and hated putting such a strain on her only daughter who was already juggling four young kids. He had met all these women at some point but it was still hard to keep track of who was who. “So, when are you going to give me a grandchild?” Aunt Bea asked, as if it was the most natural transition in the world.

Luke sensed it coming but he didn’t think she’d play that card now when he was laid up in a hospital, having nearly been killed. “First of all, Aunt Bea, if I had a child, it would make you a great aunt, not a grandmother, and second of all, I have to meet the right woman first.”

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