SEER'S CHOICE (BOOK THREE OF THE SEER TRILOGY)

By Maree Anderson

CHAPTER TWO

Laptop whined and huffed a trio of soft barks to inform her mistress it was time to wake up and get going. Rowan groaned, threw off the bedclothes and rolled out of bed to lurch toward the bathroom. She turned the shower to a smidgeon below unbearably hot and stepped beneath the water. The heat sliced through her skin and seeped into her bones. She gave her body a vigorous scrub with a loofah... and wished it could help scour away her guilt as efficiently as it scoured her skin. She should have been able to prevent Harrison's suicide. She should have been able to convince him even a life shadowed by a terminal disease was a life worth fighting for. But she'd failed. And since discovering his body something inside her had fundamentally altered.

It was her punishment for failing Harrison—this bizarre emotional link she formed with the dying. She shared their thoughts, their fears, regrets—everything until the final moment of their death when her link to them was abruptly severed. Experiencing people dying over and over again was no picnic. She'd tried everything—sleeping pills, hypnotherapy, meditation, herbal remedies. Nothing worked. People suffered and died. She suffered with them. And in the back of her mind lingered the crippling fear that one day she might link to someone she knew. She suspected that experience would push her into insanity.

To protect herself she'd drawn back, keeping herself aloof from any form of intimate relationship. She was alone and it was better that way. Life was something to be endured. And sometimes, in the dead of night as she lay sleepless, waiting for the nightmare to take her, she thought that her own death would be a welcome relief.

She toweled herself until her skin tingled, and then rubbed ineffectually at the condensation misting the mirror with a corner of the wet towel. As she scraped her damp hair back from her face with a comb she stared at her foggy reflection. She seemed so... insubstantial now—a shadow of her former self.

The mirror began to clear and her reflection crept into focus. She practiced the "I'm fine, thank you. How are you?" professional smile until it almost fit her face. The effect was spoiled by the gaunt features staring back at her. Her hollow, haunted eyes had witnessed too many deaths, shared too many regrets and fears, and try as she might she couldn't summon up an image of what she used to look like. Before Harrison.

She spun away from the mirror. Next task get dressed and feed her starving dog.

"Hey, beautiful." As she bent to hug the big dog Laptop whined and licked her face. "Eeuuw! I wish you wouldn't do that. Makes me feel like I need another shower." She straightened quickly to avoid another slurp.

When the dog had finished her meal, Rowan opened the back door onto her large yard and leaped out of the way as Laptop lunged past her. The dog pranced around for a while and then flopped her butt down to scratch. The Malamute's furry face scrunched up into that dreamy doggy-look she got when she managed to itch just the right spot. Rowan summoned a brief smile at her pet's antics before retreating into the warmth of the kitchen.

The message indicator on the phone was blinking. She didn't get many calls and hadn't noticed it before. Her pulse quickened and the back of her neck felt clammy. Bad news—she knew it. Snatching a deep breath she thumbed the button on the answer phone.

 Numbly she listened to Marilyn's apologetic voice ramble on. "I don't know how else to say this, Rowan. We had a complaint from that stuck-up old bat. She rang Head Office, threatening to take all her travel business elsewhere, and given you've had so much time off lately— Well, I can't sweep this one under the carpet. I'm so sorry. You're exceptional at your job and the clients love you and it makes me royally sick to have to let you go. Look, I'll courier your severance pay and personal stuff from your desk. And please, ring me for a reference any time. I'm really sorry it has to be this way, Rowan."

Bad news all right. Rowan resisted the urge to heave the phone at the wall. It wasn't Marilyn's fault—or the "stuck-up old bat's" either, to be brutally honest. Right in the middle of handing Mrs. Riddick, AKA the stuck-up old bat, a cup of coffee Rowan had linked to a young girl who lay trapped and dying amidst the mangled wreckage of her car. Rowan had screamed, spilled coffee all over Mrs. Riddick's pale pink, hideously expensive suit, and then passed out.

When she came to, she claimed to have suffered a debilitating migraine, apologized all over the place, and offered to pay the client's dry-cleaning bill. But Mrs. Riddick refused to be soothed. She'd stalked out, announcing she'd require a visit to her therapist to recover from the "trauma". With a young girl's pain and terror and ultimate death still indelibly etched into her mind, Rowan found it difficult to care anything at all for Mrs. Riddick's supposed trauma.

Fired two weeks before Christmas. Crap. The timing couldn't be worse. Christmas was a stressful enough time for most people, but for Rowan the holiday was nightmarish. Elderly people, especially, had a tendency to pass away over Christmas. She desperately needed the distraction of work. Not to mention the money. She had a little saved but not much. Just enough to cover living expenses and payments on her house for a couple of months. If she didn't find another job soon—

What the hell was she going to do? It wasn't going to be easy. Ideally she needed a job where there'd be no questions asked if she took a day off or came in late. No raised eyebrows if she had to lurch off to the powder room to endure another living nightmare. No probing questions if she emerged looking like death warmed over after another brush with death. Yeah, right. Impossible, much?

She shook off the negative thoughts. Enough feeling sorry for herself. She'd head straight to the local employment agency to register for some temp work. Perhaps she'd luck out and find something filling in for someone taking holidays over the Christmas break.

She shoved her arms into her winter coat, grabbed a scarf and gloves, and ducked outside to read the riot act to her dog. "You behave—you hear me, girl? No digging under the fence and escaping again or I'll have to leave you locked inside when I go out. And we both know how you hate that."

Laptop nosed her hand and whined before racing off to chase something.

Rowan locked up and headed for town. She trudged through the snow-lined streets, head down and hands shoved in her pockets, ignoring the biting cold. For a while the numbness of her extremities mirrored the numbness of her mind. But it didn't last. Her brain began dwelling on graphic details of that poor girl's last moments on earth. The young ones were the worst. They'd never really had a chance to live.

When her thoughts started on a downward spiral toward depression and despair she resorted to reciting her personal mantra. Oh, she knew the words were lies, but the familiar rhythm of them comforted her. And maybe, just maybe, if she repeated them often enough, the sentiments might come true.

I am hap-py. I am heal-thy. I am free from suf-fer-ing. Soon her steps were perfectly timed to the tempo of the chant and she'd almost shut away the memories. Almost.

She crossed the busy intersection oblivious to the squealing of tortured tires and the warning shouts of other pedestrians as they scattered. And then a word echoed loudly in her mind. Run!

Rowan froze in the middle of the street. Her chin lifted and all she could do was stare at the car barreling towards her. This is it, she thought. And rather than fear she felt profound relief. James would look after Laptop and—

Run, you little idiot!

No, she thought back. It's too late.

Shit. It wasn't supposed to be like this!

A man appeared beside her—from nowhere. His movements were so unbelievably quick that one moment she was preparing to meet her maker, and the next he'd swept her into his arms and spirited her to safety. Her gaze latched onto his face and she took in his furrowed forehead, the tightly clenched jaw, the startling golden eyes that seemed to be... glowing? A part of her mind registered that the runaway car had skidded to a halt by the curbside without hitting a single pedestrian. Miraculous.

The man set Rowan on her feet, steadied her, and stepped back. After an achingly long moment he said, "You ought to be more careful, Rowan."

"Th-thank you," she managed to whisper.

"You're welcome. You'll be all right?"

"Uh... yes."

"Good. I have to go help the driver of that car."

"Oh. Of course." Bemused, she watched him stride toward the accident scene and take charge. He extricated a heavily pregnant woman from the vehicle. A snap of his fingers had a concerned bystander shucking his coat and laying it on the ground. He lay the woman on the coat to examine her. More onlookers gathered, and as her rescuer disappeared from view Rowan finally pulled herself together and forced her legs to move.

"Holy shit! Check it out," she heard a bystander say as she skirted the crowd.

"What happened?" another asked.

"Some woman went into labor. Doesn't speak much English. Tried to drive herself to hospital and side-swiped a bunch of cars. No one's hurt. Can you believe that?"

Rowan breathed out the tension. Thank God. No one had died. Yet.

She didn't linger. The thought of sharing the death of a pregnant woman was too horrifying to consider. All she could do was pray the charismatic stranger would ensure no harm came to the woman or her baby, and get as far away from them as possible. But as she hurried down the street a thought smacked her. How had he known her name?

~~~

"From every human being there rises a light that reaches straight to heaven.And when two souls that are destined to be together find each other, their streams of light flow together and a single brighter light goes forth from their united being."  Author unknown.

Ryley closed down the search engine and turned his attention to the pile of case note files on his desk. But now his concentration was shot to hell. The poignant quote had seared itself into his brain and resounded over and over in his mind.

And when two souls that are destined to be together find each other....

He swiveled his chair and as he stared out the office window his gaze blurred. Minute imperfections in the glass merged, combining with reflected light and shadows to form a face—a woman's face. The face that had haunted him these past five years.

Enough. He exploded from his chair, grabbed his coat and exited the office. Some fresh air and a walk would help clear his head—anything to distract himself from thinking about her. Rowan Havers.

Hours later her misery awoke him. He switched on the lamp and fished a shaving mirror from the bedside drawer. He sat up, leaned his spine against the headboard, and stared into the mirror. In the light given off by the  lamp his golden eyes glowed. No surprises there. It had been two decades since his eyes had changed color and he'd had plenty of time to adjust to their strangeness.

He transferred his memory of Rowan to the forefront his mind and re-created her unique colors. He tweaked shades here and there, and when they were perfect, he concentrated on the mirror. Its surface swirled with the myriad of colors and then it abruptly cleared and he could see her in the mirror.

She tossed and turned, tangling herself in the bedclothes.

He dipped into her mind. She was in the throes of that recurring nightmare about her dead husband. With a gentle psychic caress he banished the dream and calmed her mind. And then he watched her relax into a peaceful slumber.

He'd resolved not to linger but he couldn't resist her allure. He wrapped himself in her essence and indulged himself for as long as he dared, and then he carefully withdrew to ponder what he'd learned.

You should leave her to sort out her own life. His brother's voice whispered in his mind. She's an intelligent young woman—she'll find fulltime work soon enough. And our mother would not approve of your meddling.

I'm aware of that, Aryn. But it's tempting.

She's tempting, you mean.

That too. There's something about her that draws me. And it's nearly Christmas after all—a time for goodwill toward your fellow man. Or so these people believe. Gods know, she deserves a little help.

Poor girl has had a pretty rough life, his brother agreed.

Can I count on you for support? He asked because he absolutely did not want a repeat of the last time he'd acted against Aryn's integral beliefs. Having your twin brother's soul inside you made life interesting at times. A little too interesting.

I've always been a sucker for a pretty girl.

Ryley smiled. He and his brother had made up his mind. He'd do everything in his power to help Rowan get her life back on track.

Ironic, Aryn whispered.

What?

That you could have your pick of women in Dayamaria, yet you're obsessing over a woman from another world.

Ryley didn't respond. And as sleep took him he thought he heard his brother murmur, And you'd choose the one woman you can't have.

~~~

Copyright 2013 Maree Anderson

www.mareeanderson.com