Page 8 of Touch Of Fate
My eyes glaze over. I drop the bag, and everything he has done floods my mind. He’s not a good man. He’s bad. Very bad. He’s had two divorces. He beat the first wife, and the second left after the first slap. As the years pass, his anger escalates to even more dangerous levels. I see him at a lake. He throws the bodies in the deepest part. It’s always dark, and he keeps a boat there. His girlfriends never make it out of his house. He likes everything his way, and when they don’t obey, he forces them to do all kinds of horrible things. They fight him. When they fight, he kills them. Fuck, he kills them. I feel their desperation and terror. I experience the power he feels as he hits them with a shovel or stabs them with a knife. His favorite tool is the drill.
“Mara,” Lace gasps, her voice panicked. She doesn’t touch me, knowing her emotions on top of his will make it worse.
“What’s wrong with her?” the killer demands.
“She’s fine. Here’s your book, sir.”
“Fucking freak,” he mumbles, walking away.
I’m stuck in his memories. His love for what he does. I know it’s wrong, but he finds his work satisfying. That’s what he calls it:his work.His day job is an accountant. Wearing suits every day. No one knows the killer underneath.
I start to sweat and ease myself to the floor behind the counter.
“Shit, Mara,” Lace cries. I try to avoid touch, especially around her. She hasn’t seen me experience the visions many times.
“I’m…fine,” I say, my teeth chattering. It’s difficult to talk when in the throes of memories, but I need to assure her. “Leave me here.” I scoot to the wall, hidden by the counter. If the customers didn’t see my collapse, they won’t be able to see.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I tuck myself into a ball, getting as close as possible to the shelves underneath the counter. Those women were innocent and saw only the surface of a psychopath. They wanted love, instead, they won’t ever love again. I see their faces. One was blonde, another brunette, and another with black hair. The fourth one had multicolored hair. Her dress was long and flowed down to her feet. Her sandal was still on the floor, bloody and torn, when he got back to the house. He burned it in the fireplace and then ate dinner while watching the news. She fought the most. His skin had to be under her nails.
I try to guide the memories back to the lake. I usually don’t try, hoping they are over quickly, but I’m compelled to know where the bodies are. My breath is loud as I concentrate, imagining flipping through a book, skimming the pages until I find the right one. There. I point to the page in my head. The location looks familiar. I memorize everything about it. I spell it as if I am bookmarking it. Hopefully, when I recover from the massive headache after this, I will remember, and my magic will show me the way.
“Mara, they’re gone. I closed the store.” I feel her crouch in front of me.
I lick my lips. “Water,” I croak. It’s lessening. I see the last woman again, her beautiful face set in determination as if she is speaking to me. “Name,” I whisper. I need to know her name, all of their names. My vision speeds back to when they met as if rewinding a tape.‘My name is Leslie.’Her voice is soft in hismemory of their first date. He pulled out her chair and smiled softly at her. It’s been a long time since I have been touched by someone so evil. This is nothing like the people who steal, have dreams of divorcing their wives, watch porn all day, or have crushes on their coworkers. These are just a few examples that constantly come through.
“Here.” Lace holds a bottle to my lips. I can focus on her face. It’s pinched in worry.
“It’s almost done,” I say, pushing the bottle away. “Did he use a credit card?”
“Yes.”
“Write down his name,” I instruct.
“Why?” she asks.
“Just do it.” I don’t know what I’ll do with the information or how he can be brought to justice. Witches are more light than dark. When young, we dabble in questionable magic, like how to win money or lie to our parents. We use our magic to make our lives easier, but rarely for bad. That’s too dark.
I could go to the police, hoping they would do something if they believed me. How do I explain how I know? Being questioned by them doesn’t sound fun. I never thought I could use my magic for something good, but not everyone I touch is a murderer. How would I direct it to those who deserve punishment? I’ve never tried and have avoided getting involved.
“I wrote it down,” Lace whispers, sitting beside me. “I hate this. This one was bad. I’ve never seen them affect you so badly.”
“I know,” I rasp, clearing my throat. My eyes are clear, and I blink. “It’s gone.” A sharp pain shoots through the front of my skull. “I need to lie down.”
“Let me,” she starts as she stands, holding her hand out. “Shit, I can’t help you.” She drops her hand.
“It’s alright.” I know it hurts her, and it would probably be okay since I have the gloves on. Taking chances right now isn’tan option. “I got it.” I slowly push up, holding on to the counter. “I love that you want to help.”
“Maybe your bond can?” She stays beside me as I walk to the back of the store.
“We don’t know if he is coming.” I stop next to the comfortable couch among the shelves.
“Savy is sure.”
“You know magic is never a sure thing.” I stretch out on the cushions, sighing. “It’s subjective and often misinterpreted.”
“Mara,” she says, crouching next to me. “You have to believe. You’ve taken care of everyone else your whole life. It’s time for someone to be there for you.”
