The Chase: Part Four

(…and more…)

Part Four: The Chase

The plan had gone well, though I had wanted to be a bit closer before being seen.  Every stride helped.  Now, only the chase remained.  The being fell into the trap, cutting back for the high place.

There was no holding back.  I moved as fast as I could.  The being was agile, but I was faster.  It needed to reach the trees and brush to have any chance.  I needed to catch it before that or the chase would be difficult, though not ended.

The open space was good for running.  I could use my full stride to keep up speed without working as hard; and the target remained visible the entire time.  The being started with excellent speed, but experience suggested it would tire quickly.  As the gap between me and the being closed, the angles, speeds and distances helped me see where I might overtake it.  This always came with some uncertainty, yet helped in making a final approach.

The final approach, give or take a few strides, would be just before the trees and brush, where the ground rose up.  It was to my advantage, as the being would need to exert itself slightly more to get to higher ground.  The only danger was making the final approach too quickly; as missing at high speed would give the being a chance to double back, with its superior agility, and costing me the straight line speed advantage.  Slowing just before reaching the being was imperative.  Uncertainties remained.  Beings like this typically fell into two groups, and the fact they reacted entirely differently was a better defense the actual reactions.

The first group fell into a wild panic, staying fixated on their intended escape point and running with all speed; even when the effort itself killed them.  Their only hope was that I would be too slow or make some error in my approach.

The second group were not panicked and making plans of their own.  They had options.  Most commonly, they would make a sudden change in speed or directions immediately before contact.  It only had to be enough to evade once; then they could change direction, with enough time to find shelter or, at worst, extend the chase.

The distance closed quickly.  All that remained was to execute.  All the planning, approaching and chasing would come down to skill, timing, and reflexes.

The ground rose and the being made a sudden great leap, as though it intended to reach the bushes in a final motion.  It made little sense.  Even if it was blind panic, the motion only served to make my task easier.  Often, these things were beyond explanation; though a small part of me regretted the ease of it.  Completing a successful chase, when it was challenging, gave feelings of satisfaction and dominance.  Proving able to chase down a target was a purpose in its own right; more nourishing than the actual meal it yielded.

The leap was too high, and not nearly long enough to escape me.  I slowed until my path matched the beings descent.  In motion through the air, it was lost.

I noticed too late that something pointed, perhaps a tooth, claw or horn, appeared from the upper part of the being.  It had not being there when the being left the ground, but now it was.  I turned late, and was stung with a great pain in my neck.  I twisted away, feeling the point leave my neck.  I lost my footing and fell, tumbling for a moment.  The being stood before me as I regained my feet, and I smelled no fear.  The pointed thing was gone, though I feared it still.  Such a being might make it appear again.  My neck flashed cold before a growing heat began to spread, encompassing me.  I bared my teeth for a moment, only to realize I was falling down.  I was about to sleep without wanting to.

The Chase: Part Three

(Even more of the weird story)

Part Three: The Approach

I moved with slow, deliberate steps along the high point, until the trees and bushes were too thin to hide me.  The approach would be wide enough to work.  I took a quick look around to review the ground from this new place.  It was important to review the terrain and distances.  The being was in the same vicinity as before, eating and showing no sign of concern.  I determined there was no reason to delay.

I stayed low as I departed the bushes and moved down to the low, open space.  Only thin grass, not higher than my knees, covered the open space.  Staying low would only give me a few extra moments to stay undetected.  I would be seen once it looked in my direction.

Just as I reached the flat, open space, the being raised its head up.  I might have made a noise in my movements or just fallen into sight early; though it did not matter any longer.  The approach was nearly over.  All that remained was for the being to make a choice and act on it.  If it ran back to the boundary of trees it was taking a chance of being faster in a longer run.  If it tried to run through the gap I had left it, between me and the water, my chances were better; I knew that ground.

I held back on my speed.  It would not do to waste energy until the being committed itself to a direction.  The other advantage of holding back early was to trick the target into misjudging your full speed.  The creature saw me and froze in place, probably hoping it had not been seen.  This was good.  The longer it froze, the closer I got and the more rushed its decision became.  Still, I began to accelerate, just enough to keep closing the distance.  The being took quick glances in the directions it might go and darted into action.

The Chase: Part One

(Not sure quite what to call this. Natural science fiction would be as close as I could say without overthinking it. Nothing horrific, gross or deep, though it feels very much like a weird bit of writing. It just kind of came to me and was easy to write. It needs some TLC, but considering how the last month or so has treated me I will call it good enough for now. I include a map at the end of this because I was not completely satisfied with the visual I describe. I am also a sucker for maps, and apologize for the crude rending here; visual arts are not my forte. If you believe this is very short, then you are correct by any meaningful standard. More parts to come soon.)

Part One: Finding

It was a day like so many others.  The air was warm and calm, even before the sun rose.  It was a good day for many things.

It was not long after sunrise when I found a being worth catching.  It was unusual, but looked like so much like the other beings I was accustomed to catching that I hardly concerned myself.  Trying to identify each, specific type and remember them with detail was more effort than it was worth.  All that mattered were the details regarding how it behaved when chased, and then caught.  Everything else was not worth remembering.

This being was eating in an open space bordering a patch of water.  It was alone and unaware of my presence.  I also had the advantage of being concealed by trees and bushes on a ridge slightly higher than the ground the being was on.  The sun was off to the side, but high enough not to throw especially long shadows.  The still air would conceal my presence.  It was a good find.

A look at the terrain and positions at the start of the story

A Tiny Light To See By, Part 9

(Psychic horror)

When I returned to the hotel, I was burnt out.

               Forensics was crowded and busy, not to mention unfriendly.  I was half expecting the maelstrom to have followed the corpses, but it did not.  Still, places like that still manage to overwhelm me.  I fought through it.  What I came away with was helpful, sort of.

               The bodies did not give me anything, in particular, other than the slightest feeling of resigned calm; a strange sensation for me to pick up, considering.  It was not universal, but highly prevalent.  I managed to confirm from overtired forensics staff that the bodies had not, as far as they could tell, been touched by scavenging animals.  The cuts had not been precise, but what did the cutting had been incredibly sharp.  The details were so unusual that most of the staff felt the RCMP would be involved soon.  After too long getting all of this, I called a cab and returned to the hotel.  I had taken enough cruisers for the day.

               Adam had not responded to my earlier text but I sent another update, anyway.

               I was still in over my head, yet I had a nagging feeling there was something familiar about it.  I might manage to find myself above water if I could pin it down.  The hotel room kept giving me a feeling of drunken joy, a strange and welcome distraction.

               Sleep beckoned.  It had been a second rough day in a row.  The forensics area was loaded with psychic energy, above and beyond the mess of recent corpses, which automatically burnt me out.

               The dream was remarkably similar to the last.  I walked into the clearing, which was empty and devoid of the overwhelming energy I first encountered.  Then, the figures appeared, the same as before.  I was surrounded before I thought to run, only having enough time to brace myself before they held me as before.  Their hands were cold and felt like they were biting into my skin.  I strained against them, trying to force my way out, but they were too strong and too many.

               “Last warning,” one of them said, more sinister than before.  The same bladed object appeared, stabbing me in the same spot, only this time the pain was much more intense; and I was not able to awaken quickly.  They were holding me for a moment, just long enough to prove they could.

               I woke with the same shock as before.  Only this time the pain in my leg was agonizing.  It was as though a hot poker had been driven in and electrified.  It felt numb from the knee down.  It was barely four in the morning, but there would be no more sleep for me.

               The pain left me slowly, certainly slower than the day before.  Sensation below the knee also returned in a similar fashion.  I shook like a leaf for a good hour before my nerves returned.  Only one positive came from nightmare number two: I remembered why the maelstrom and void from the crime scene seemed familiar to me.  It was a tainted positive, really, but better than the dead end I had been facing.

               It wasn’t until nine that I felt halfway normal.  I searched my phone contacts for what I needed.  Gary Tellmann, luckily, was still on my list.  Gaetan Boucanne was not there, but Gary would likely connect me, if we got that far.  I was getting ahead of myself, and knew it.  Adam needed to approve anyone or anything I might bring in that was out of the ordinary.  The media would be involved, and I did not need to be psychic to know that police scrutiny would be high for some time.

               I sent a quick text to Adam, stating I needed to discuss something fairly urgent.  I made a handful of internet searches on Tellmann and Boucanne to make sure no recent activity of theirs was especially odd.  Breaking anything like this to Adam meant due diligence; and I was proposing to introduce a pair who were unusual, even by my standard.

               It took me a nearly an hour to jog my memory on Tellmann.  How long ago was our last communication of any kind?  I knew it had been several years since we visited in person.  It was my best guess that our last, meaning exchange was nearly two years before.  We exchanged a few professional emails in a debate over subtleties related to language interpretation during psychic events.  Tellmann was psychic, for certain, but his real strength was academic.  He had studied all things psychic to a nearly ridiculous level.  I mostly used my abilities by feel, like an art more than science.  It could be studied, I was sure, and rules found that could be applied and honed; where I fell off with Tellmann was the degree of personal interpretation involved made that study dizzyingly complex.  He believed that over time, with enough scientific research, the human psychic nature could be fully understood and explored.

               I remember, in one of our earlier exchanges, explaining how I saw the positive application of psychic ability.  The vast majority of the world was living completely blind to an entire sense, and probably the poorer for it.  Most of those who could sense it either lived in denial, thought they were crazy or explained it away with some rational nonsense that in no way applied.  Those who could see it could only catch a glimpse, looking through a tiny keyhole into a large, cluttered, shadowy space; but we could see, at least.  I told Tellman that psychics were tiny lights to see by.  The light we caste was small, but better than nothing.

               Tellman, being on an academic mission, disagreed.

               Boucanne was the one I really wanted to get on board.  Tellman had psychic skills, but certainly weaker than mine.  Boucanne was on another level.  His abilities were extraordinary, much greater than anyone else I had ever encountered.  Unlike Tellman, Boucanne had gone in the opposite direction of science, embracing all kinds of supernatural, paranormal, mystic and occult practices.  The weirder the better was how I saw his approach to adopting new approaches and practices.  He was a brilliant psychic, through all the other nonsense, and wrote prolifically about all of it.  Even as a I skimmed his most recent blog entries (oh yes, he had a blog) it boggled my mind at the volume of information he churned out.

               Adam would be fine with Tellman, even though he was unaware of his worst quirks.  Boucanne would be harder to sell, but I needed him more.

A Tiny Light to See By, Part 8

(Psychic horror. And on we go.)

There are times when you feel like you are in over your head.  My return to the crime scene convinced me the water line was well above me.

               I had braced for a repeat experience of my previous visits.  I ate light and was well hydrated, expecting to brave the maelstrom.  It was a tense ride in another cruiser, driven by another unwilling young cop.  I kept my head clear and actively forced myself to keep from clenching my jaw or squeezing my fists.

               Before I stepped into the clearing I knew something had changed.  There was nothing.  It was almost the opposite of before.  The mad rush that had overwhelmed me was replaced by an almost equally mad void; and it had the opposite effect on me: peaceful tranquility.

               It felt as though every speck of psychic energy had been sucked out of the area.  I walked to the middle of the clearing and it felt like there was nothing there.  Only the faintest, distant traces of anything could be felt from the nearby officers.  As disconcerting as it was for my sixth sense to fade out like that, it was also joyous, peaceful.  It was like walking out of a rock concert and into a sensory deprivation tank.  I lost track of time as I simply enjoyed the moment, unprofessional or not.

               The moment was disrupted by the approach of more officers, and the void did not resist the intrusion of energy.  The canine unit arrived with two German shepherds, almost frantically sniffing at the ground.  They were as unbothered as I was.  What had changed?

               I made some notes and began moving to the perimeter I had mapped out.  The void felt like it was unstable, probably collapsing under the weight of surrounding energies, yet I managed to determine it mirrored the earlier maelstrom.  It was new territory for me, and left me feeling awkward and uncomfortable.  I was in over my head.

               I had been in over my head before, just not that far.  It was like sitting down to an exam after attending only half the lectures, doing none of the reading and no studying.  All I could think to do was walk through the area as systematically as possible, maybe to catch a trace of something.  I refocused as I trudged through the brush and cleared areas, enough to stay open to whatever I might pick up.  It was nearly supper time when I had finished, and nothing came through.  The police presence was easily discernible from the nothingness of the scene, which was eroding rapidly.  The center of the clearing remained calm, when I returned, but not as much as before.  It was slowly and surely losing ground to the surroundings, a psychic equilibrium wearing it down.

               Still, I took the time to enjoy the relative peace of the moment.  It was almost therapeutic after the earlier scorching.  As I basked, my mind started to go over the case.  The details, even factoring out my psychic observations, were going to be a challenge.  If forensics failed to get any traction with the physical evidence the investigation faced huge challenges.  Who were these victims?  How did they get here?  Who were the perpetrators and where did they go?  It meant a lot of uncheck boxes if the science came up empty.

               Adding to this, I had come up with nothing.  This was nothing new for me; sometimes there was just nothing, frustrating as it was.  The wrinkle, this time, lay in the strange, unprecedented experiences I had faced; the overwhelming sensations of the raw crime scene, the matching void that followed, and the threatening message from the dream.  I needed more time and more access to the physical evidence, even though it would be hell.  Forensics labs, cemeteries and morgues are all nightmare scenarios for me.

               I sent a quick text to Adam, whose cell number I had managed to acquire, then asked the officer in charge for a lift downtown.  I made notes while I waited for the ride, which got me to thinking about the situation and how strange it was.  The more I thought about it, the more it jogged my memory.  The experience of the void, especially, seemed to ring familiar.  The ride arrived, breaking my train of thought; doubly so because it was the same cop who had given me my initial ride to the crime scene.

               “Hey,” he greeted me.  “How are you doing?”

*steep, wooden stairs-clover-bright lights*

               “Been better,” I admitted.  “How about you?”

               “Busy,” he said with a smile.  “Things have been buzzing with all this going on, so they are running us steady.  Overtime is going to be mandatory for a while, I think.”

               I checked his name, which I had deliberately avoided before.  Melvin Farthington.  “I suppose that won’t hurt, then?”

               “I am always good for more hours,” he said, putting the car in gear and driving out.  “Have you cracked this case, yet?”

*poker chips-a poorly played violin-a paper cup-a box from a cheap chemistry set*

               I nearly laughed out loud.  “A stand still, really,” I answered.  “This has been a unique experience.  I need to cover more ground before I draw any conclusions, though.”

               He frowned at that.  “Really?”

               “Yes, really,” I said.  “Something about all this is heavily charged on a spiritual, psychic level.  Until I cover my bases, there is not much more I can determine.”

               “Well, that makes sense considering the scale of what happened,” he reasoned.  “I mean, that’s more murders than we’ve had in the last ten years.  Nothing normal about that.”

               We rode in silence for a bit, my mind rolling over things.  Awkward silence gave me time to process.

*blue paint on a wall-a feel of rough fabric-a stained coffee mug*

               “Did anything ever come from that missing person?  The kid from Timberton?” I asked.

               “I haven’t heard anything,” he said.  “You think there’s a connection?”

               “Awfully long shot,” I replied, “but I hate ruling anything out, especially when the timing is so close.”

               “Fair enough,” he said.  “I’m sure they are considering that, too.”

               “I hope so,” I said, letting the ride return to awkward silence the rest of the way.

*walking on hot pavement-a wine cork-smoke*

A Tiny Light to See By, Part 7

(Psychic horror. A long delay from the last one. Combination of factors, but mostly holiday season related. I expect to post more regularly.)

The meeting was longer than I expected, based on past experience.  Then again, I had never been involved with a mass homicide investigation before.  I took notes with as much detail as I could; there was a lot to absorb and too much to risk forgetting.  It also helped me block out the volume of sensation from the gathering.  In my seat at the back of the room, it was easy to be ignored.

               There are times when hearing the case details make me feel like my input is negligible, if not a complete waste.  This was not one of those times.

               The scene had been discovered by a game warden, looking for poachers, and locked down within hours.  Apparently, I was on the scene the next day.

               What was known, or highly likely, boiled down to a few, limited details; all of which I noted.

-The victims were a mix of adult, Caucasian males and females who had been killed at the scene roughly three days before discovery.  The exact count was somewhere between fifty-four and fifty-seven people.  (the pieces were literally being matched up by forensics)

-The majority cause of death was blood loss from dismemberment, though there was evidence some were killed by decapitation.

-The bodies were dismembered with extremely sharp, almost surgical quality blades of some kind.

-There were no signs of bruising, forceful restraint or other trauma usually associated with victims like this.  Additionally, forensics had not yet found any signs of drugging.

-No traces of clothing, jewellery, eye glasses or contacts, tattoos or anything were found.

-A few traces of footprints were found, in poor condition, but likely belonged to the victims.  Tire tracks in the area were being examined.

-No other materials were found in the way of weapons, restraints, drug paraphernalia, gang symbols, serial killer trademarks or anything suspicious.

-Finally, though some of the faces and finger prints were in reasonable condition, none of the victims had been identified.

               As they went over the details, I just kept rolling things over and over in my mind.  I scratched down a few point form questions as they started wrapping up the exposition.  If the floor opened to questions, I was dying to ask.  When they finally did open the floor, I decided to leave the opening round to the police, hoping they would ask the same questions.  A number of questions were asked regarding the condition of the bodies, foot and vehicle traffic in the area, and so forth.  The general sense I had was that they really had nothing to work with, and the prospects for more were poor.

*Ravens-gasoline-tadpoles*

               Nothing really hit on the points I wanted addressed, anyway.  I managed to catch Adam’s gaze as the questions wound down; I cocked my head, silently asking if I was good to ask anything.  He glanced up at Sergeant-Major Guranovich, the Provincial cop in charge of the overall investigation, who was running the Q and A.  He shrugged and reluctantly nodded.  Not a vote of confidence, yet better than a hard no.

               I stood amidst the early mumblings of the group, feeling self-conscious and awkward for no good reason.  A moment of instant regret passed over me.

*smell of cut grass-apple sauce-dragons-Christmas lights-the sound of a flute*

               “Sergeant-Major,” I asked as politely and confidently as I could, “I have a few questions that have not been addressed here.  Apologies if they are already under review.”

               “Go ahead, then, mister…” the Sergeant-Major said; fishing for my name and, probably, my rank or position; he clearly did not know who I was.

               “Norman Garrickson,” I said.  “The victims were killed three days before discovery.  Were there any sign the bodies had been scavenged on by animals after death?”

               Guranovich raised an eyebrow, looking to the head of the forensics team.  A shoulder shrug was his reply.  “Nothing of that nature was reported to me,” the Sergeant-Major declared.  “The area is rural, but the nearby road is reasonably busy.  We would have to look into that.”

*stacks of money-butter melting on waffles-a broken necklace*

               I decided that went well enough to keep on asking.  “Will a canine unit be sent to the site?”

               That one earned me a furrowed brow from him.  “We have made arrangements for a provincial canine unit to come in today,” he said, sounding touchy.  “The local unit has been occupied on another case.”

               “Okay,” I said, preparing to wrap up with one more.  “Who owns that land?”

               “It is crown land,” he said, “but within a few yards of a farm.  We are looking into that, too.”

               “Thank-you,” I said, taking my seat and ignoring the unmistakably derogatory muttering from the group.

*a strong, warm wind-a freckled child-a damaged, cardboard box*

               “If that is all,” Guranovich said, returning to his rigid, confident form, “I want to suggest that we have very little to go on.  Normally, we would have far more evidence at this point in an investigation, so we need some traction very soon.  We have approval for as much overtime as we need.  I am overseeing things, but expect a fair bit of time dealing with the media.  For now, Chief Carter will be heading the investigation and reporting to me.”

               There was a bit of wrap up as specific duties were assigned, none of it directly pertinent to the case.  It was a big case getting a lot of attention.  The bureaucratic machinery of the investigation was engaging.  If I was going to help, I needed to get moving before that machinery pushed me out.

A Tiny Light to See By, Part 6

(Psychic horror)

The next morning was a lot of down time.  Calling the police station only got me Adam’s voice mail or road blocked by anyone I got on the phone.  It was clear they planned to call me when and if I was needed, not before.  My appetite was shot, and I had to force down half a bagel and some apple juice.  I spent time reviewing the meaningless notes from the day before.  Only the map felt like it had any merit.  The numbers I marked out formed a vague oval, nearly matching the space of the clearing.  It meant nothing in itself, but was too symmetrical to be random.

               This was all against the backdrop of my dream, which continued to cause shivers.  I had been warned and threatened before by odd sensations or presences, if you like; but nothing like that dream.  It was entirely more intense and real than anything I had felt before.  There was no chance in a billion it was unconnected to the events of the crime scene.  Someone, or possibly something, wanted me to back off in a hurry.  My leg hurt, right above the knee, when I thought about it too hard.  Still, I wrote it all down in the pad with every detail I could recall, rubbing my leg to soothe it.  The words “stay away” were sounding like good advice.

               The department called late in the morning, telling me to be ready in fifteen minutes.  They were on time, down to the minute.  A young cop picked me up and drove me rather quickly to the station.  It seemed like he was at the end of a traffic shift and unhappy about giving me a ride.  The station wasn’t busy and still managed to give off too much information.  I focused on keeping it out with modest success.

*condoms-a painful, freshly broken forearm-butter-hallway of doors-despair-trees-a burnt island-vodka-harmonica-curling iron*

               A long, restful break would happen after this, I promised myself.

               I expected to wait and was pleasantly surprised at how quickly they ushered me upstairs to a large meeting room.  Adam stood at a table at the end of the room.  He looked tired and intense as he spoke with two other men I recognised from the day before.  My usher directed me to Adam and quickly left.  The room was modern and new; and the intensity of sensory events was much reduced from the first floor.

               Adam looked relieved to see me when I approached.

*snow capped mountains-blood-shivering in the cold-plastic bags*

               “That will be good enough for now, guys,” Adam said, dismissing the others.  “Get some lunch before this gets going.”

               We sat down behind the table and he stretched his back, looking completely burnt out.  “Tell me you have something to break this one, eh, Norman?” was all he started with.

               “Sorry to let you down, Adam,” I said.  “What I have is awfully thin.  I need to go back at least one more time.”

               “I’ll start with the thin stuff, first,” he said through a yawn.

               “Okay.  You already know how this works for me.  I was not able to get a specific read at the scene.  That same intensity I told you about was still going strong when I left.”  I showed him the map I made with little intensity level numbers, from tens to ones, circling the site, explaining what I did.

*a predatory bird-dice-glue-waffles-plum sauce-a wooden plate*

               “Does this mean anything to you?  Am I missing something?” he asked.

               “On its own, no,” I explained.  “I was hoping for some kind of clue or something.  What is curious, and possibly relevant, is I did not observe a single animal of any kind closer than the perimeter I marked.  Even those animals appeared agitated.  I was told the canine unit was occupied, but I would bet those dogs would have freaked out if they got too close.”

               “Well, that’s something, I guess,” he muttered.  “Anything else?  Please?”

               I nearly smiled, except the memory of the dream blotted it out.  I told Adam about the dream, even looking through my notes to cover everything off.  My leg positively ached as I did so.

*darkness-strong wind-heat-a dancing crowd*

               “I’m not sure what to make of that, Norman,” Adam said.  “I can tell it still hurts your leg, though.”

               “I never was a good faker,” I clenched through the words.  “Maybe I should work on that.”

               “Maybe, but for now it sounds vaguely like a cult thing, even if you’re not feeling it that way.”

               “I can’t rule anything out,” I said, massaging my leg, “but dreams are not so direct.  Dream imagery is highly abstract, in many respects.  The message, and this business with my leg, was clear enough.  Someone does not want me here.”

               “You and everyone on the case,” Adam said.  “Whoever is behind this is really bad news, you can be sure of it.  Listen, I’ve got a ton going on, including the missing Timberton kid, so if that’s all you have, I will let you go.  If you are ready for case details, you are welcome to stay.  We’re having a group briefing in about half an hour, just to go over everything.  If not, I understand.”

               “What about going back to the site?” I asked.  “If there are fewer people around, I might have a better shot.”

               “The site is being cleared up as we speak,” Adam said.  “I’m guessing that will throw you off, too.”

               I thought about it for a moment.  The briefing did not seem premature at this point.  “I’ll stay for the briefing if I can still go back to the site.  How about that?”

               “It will have to be quick,” Adam said.  “We have a press conference at five.  Then we have to be careful about what we do.”

               This was Adam’s polite way of telling me it would look bad for a contracted psychic to be openly associated with the case.  How could I blame him?

*smoke-bright lights*

A Tiny Light to See By, Part 5

(Psychic horror)

The ride back to the hotel with Kirby had mostly been in silence.  He said little, other than telling me how this was the worst thing he had seen.  I became aware that I did not have Adam’s cell number; having hoped I could text him about the animal thing.

               “Kirby,” I said to him as I was getting out, “I know how I’m perceived by people, police included, and I know Adam is probably taking a chance by bringing me in.  If I can’t help, I’ll be the first to say so.  It happens.”

               He looked at me like he was trying to read me.  “The chief mentions you, once in a while,” he said.  “Not casually, but he says you helped him solve a big case a long time ago.  He’s a loyal guy, so I don’t think it bothers him to stick his neck out.  Have a good night, Norman.”

*Lemons-a small dog-a sitting room filled with men smoking cigars and pipes-the entrance to a house*

               The hotel was rife with sensations, which I did my best to ignore.  Hotels were always a pain.  So many people coming and going left a lot of psychic energy behind.  Sleep would not come quickly, I was sure.

               I showered quickly and got to bed, trying not to over analyze the day.  I decided to forgo a review of my notes; usually a must, except that my sprawling comments had no real substance to them.  It was a vague compilation of negative feelings and emotions that had battered me every second I was there.  Not much to review.  Sleep did not come quickly.

               When I dream, it is a very odd experience; and odder still compared to how ordinary people relate dreaming.  My dreams always feel very real, and often connect with the ambient energy of the room.  I am pretty ruthless about back checking a hotel room to see if a death had happened there, and I am pretty good at sniffing out the truth when I am on site.  But even avoiding that massive, psychic thrill ride is no guarantee other nasty business has been avoided.  The best practice, I have found, is to take the newest hotel in the nicest area.  It generally works out.

               The room had an even mix of energy, leaning to the positive; so it was a win.  Dreams, however, had a way of reaching out beyond the walls of a hotel.  This was the other downside of a hotel: all new energy around me.  At home, I was so used to the surrounding vibe that it was practically background noise.  An extended stay anywhere else was an adventure.  The general impressions I was getting were balanced enough; and the upside of my day was that it left me a bit numb.

               The dream was like almost all my dreams, in that it was more of a psychic event than a dream.  In the dream, I walked to the clearing, wandering to the middle of it.  The bodies were not there and overwhelming psychic energy was absent, yet I was not alone.  I looked up to see figures enter the open space from the trees.  I had the sense they were men, though they were heavily obscured; as though someone had taken a pencil and thoroughly scratched over their image, leaving only a trace of a form.  Their suspicion and curiosity wafted into the clearing like the smell of smoke.  I was not welcome or desired, and yet they surrounded me.  There was no way past them.

               With more time I might have overcome my fear and disorientation enough to ask a question.  Instead, they began to close in, remaining obscured in their penciled out fashion.  I began to sense a bit of strain from them, and felt certain it was related to the blocking of their images.  It was clear to me they were hiding themselves deliberately, but with great effort.  A moment later they set upon me.  I resisted as best I could, but they were strong and numerous.  I was dragged to the ground and pinned there, helpless and terrified.

               “You should not have come,” one of them hissed.  “Stay away!”

               A bladed weapon appeared, perhaps a knife or dagger, but possibly a spear or sword, and I went into shock at the sight.  It pierced my leg, delivering agonizing pain and I began to scream.

               I jumped from the hotel bed to a shaky stand in one violent motion.  My leg ached where the blade had touched me, yet no mark could be found.  I was drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf.

               “What the fuck have I gotten into?” I asked myself out loud.

A Tiny Light to See By, Part 4

(Psychic horror weirdness)

I decided on an unorthodox approach to my return.  Presuming the same feeling I got the first time, I would not try to focus.  Instead, I would try looking at the forest instead of the trees.  There was no way I could focus any harder or better than I did the first time.

               Adam told me he would probably be in touch the next day or so, unless I had a major revelation or something.  Other than this, he let me wander the carnage again.

               Deliberately not focusing was much easier, even though the general nausea and headache were there.  It was a random approach, like sticking your hand into a river and hoping to catch a fish.  I started making notes on the intensity of the energy coming through, to see if it varied from spot to spot in the clearing.  The results were inconclusive, although it was clear the feeling dropped substantially after being only a few yards from the edge.  I started wandering the perimeter, mapping this feeling on a scale similar to a pain index.  I made a rough sketch in the pad to map it out.  It was during this process that I noticed something that escaped me earlier.  I noticed a squirrel in the distance, much further from the crime scene than I.  It was agitated and nervous.  It was not a pure psychic connection I made at that moment; however, something definitely clicked.  I went looking for Adam directly.

               He was busy, an officer advised me when I returned.

               “Then maybe you can help me,” I suggested, politely, despite my sense of urgency.  “Have you had the canine unit in here?”

               “No,” he said, sounding annoyed.  “I think there was a missing kid in Timberton, so they would be on that before we called them here.  Why?”  His question was laced with suspicion.  I ignored it.

               “Have you noticed any animals in the vicinity?” I asked.  “Birds, squirrels, chipmunks, or anything like that?”

               That earned me funny look.  “I haven’t, but this is a homicide investigation.  Unless you think this was done by animals or something.”

               One of the fantastic perks of being a psychic on a police crime scene is the attitude you get.  I had heard worse from better cops than this.  You learn to roll with it, like when you get pulled over; or it only gets worse.

               “This is just an observation, and I only noticed it a few minutes ago,” I said, being as deferential as possible, “but I have not seen an animal within fifty yards of this place since I got here.”

               “Listen…” he glanced at my badge, “…Norman, I know the chief called you in and I’m sure you’re trying to help.  But we are really busy.  I’m sure the chief will get in touch with you.”

               If I had been in a better state I would have known better, but I wasn’t, so I pressed.  “It does not strike you as odd that there are no animals anywhere near here?”

               “There are a lot of people around, I’m sure the animals are just not used to that.  Now please go back to whatever you are doing.  Thank you.”  And that was that.

               I returned to mapping the range of my reading.  It was starting to get dark when I finished.  Sergeant Kirby approached me as I returned to the scene.  “We are starting to wrap up, here,” he advised me, “so if you have anything left to do, now’s the time.”

               Adam was nowhere to be seen, and I was beginning to suspect he had left.  It did not matter.  In my second round of mapping, I confirmed that no animals were within fifty yards or so of the scene.  Steering clear of human activity only held so much water for me, even accounting for the rural setting.  That none of them had got closer across a whole day was strange.  I definitely needed to chat with Adam.

               “I was hoping to speak with Adam,” I said to Kirby, keeping my voice down, “but another officer said he was too busy.  Any change in that?”

               “I haven’t kept close tabs on him,” Kirby said, “but that sounds about right.”

               “I asked about the canine unit,” I said, carefully, “and the other officer said they were tied up in Timberton.  Do you think they will be called in?”

               Kirby glanced over in the direction of the officer I spoke to earlier.  “I doubt they will be in here today, anyway,” he said.  “And don’t worry about him.  He’s part of the provincial unit.  The collars are on tight but they do good work.  Tell you what, I’m out of here in thirty, I can drive you back.  It’s been a long day for all of us.”

A Tiny Light to See By, Part 3

(Even more psychic horror)

I wandered through the scene, following whatever paths the forensics unit approved.  It was gruesome and disturbing.  The urge to back out and run was strong; I needed several breaks to regroup and try again.  It was like a nightmare that would not end; sensory overload.

               When I sense things, which is almost a constant state, they come through as tiny fragments or splinters.  If I focus, I can usually expand the fragment enough to get a bigger picture.  Results are never consistent and often get into loops, where I sense the same thing again and again.  The main thing is to stay focused so every bit I sense can be expanded as much as possible, hopefully enough to piece together into something coherent and useful.  It was all about focus; otherwise, it was like going from a view through a pin hole to a view through a key hole.

               And yet, as I wandered through a scene of carnage, the fragments I sensed came through in a torrent.  No matter how hard I tried to focus the bits flew through me before I could sense them.  It was like being in a speeding car and looking straight down from the side window; you see the ground as a blur, with details being impossible to identify.  It was all evil, hostile, aggressive and negative stuff, but nothing concrete.  I kept jotting the big picture senses into my pad until I grew frustrated at the lack of detail.  Every ounce of effort I had was put to making out something.  This was an all new experience with no familiar landmarks to guide me.  I was lost and did not know where I was or where I wanted to go.

               It was tough to say how much time passed, but I finally took a longer break.  Someone had brought me a coffee, which was nearly cold.  I had a headache and nearly overwhelming nausea.  My pad was open but I could not remember what I planned to write, or if I had planned to write.  Everything was a blank.

               “Norman,” I heard Adam call from a short distance, “you all right?”

               “Been better,” I said after a delay, shaking the haze in my head for a moment.

               Adam approached down the trail, looking tired, possibly discouraged.  “Some of the guys are worried about you, they are…you know your nose is bleeding, right?”

               I had no idea, touching my hand to my face.  I was bleeding.  Another first.  “So I am,” was all I could say, instinctively searching for a tissue, finding it, and wiping.  No gusher, but more than a spot.

               Adam stopped in front of me, looking at me more carefully than before.  “You need some time away from this,” he said.  “Grab a meal and some proper coffee, you know.”

               “I suppose,” I agreed without much thought.  “I will need to come back.  There’s something here, something really…different.  It’s hard to explain.”

               “The stuff you do is always hard to explain, Norman.  I would be worried if you told me different.  It is past supper time and I need a break and a meal, too.  How about we grab some food and talk though it, unless you just need to decompress?  I know a great take out place.”

               Stubborn instinct wanted to refuse until I realised I had been at it for several hours.  It had felt like twenty minutes.

               It was an hour before we reached Betty’s Diner, an easy to miss spot attached to a farm supply store.  Adam ran in and brought back drinks and food, remembering my aversion to public or crowded places.  He didn’t ask what I wanted, bringing back a ginger ale with burger and fries; offering to swap it for his chicken burger if I disapproved.

               My nausea had largely passed and my empty stomach agreed with the food, out of necessity rather than quality.  We were half way through before he started talking.

               “You up to talking about this yet?” he asked.

               “I suppose,” I said, “but I think you will be disappointed.”

               “I’ll take what I can get,” he said.  “Besides, I think you are going back with me, anyway, right?”

               I nodded agreement.  It had not taken long after we left the site for my mind to clear, letting me make an appraisal what had hit me.  I was not sure what I could do differently but knew what I was getting into.  I briefly explained what had happened and how bad it felt.

               “You think it might settle down, lose enough intensity for you to sift through it?” he asked.

               “Can’t say.  I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

               “Overwhelming negative evil crap, eh?” he wondered aloud.  “Are you talking freaky sociopath evil or maybe organized crime evil?  Anything?”

               I shook my head.  “It’s not like that, as best I can tell.  This is something deep and spiritual.  It’s scary.”

               “Like a cult thing?” he asked, reaching for answers now.

               “I don’t know, I really don’t,” I said, a little angry at myself for having nothing at all.  “I need to go back, maybe take a different approach.  I am flying blind, Adam.  Sorry.”

               “Don’t be sorry,” he said.  “The whole thing is a mess.  The forensics guys aren’t doing much better, either.  Just let me know when you are ready for details from my side.”

               “Just let me have one more look,” I said, feeling queasy at the though.  “Then we’ll see.”