I've often wished I could simply get it right the first time, but I know in writing a draft that I simply follow the story. Everything else comes later. Chapter two has changed significantly, although portions of the earlier Chapter two may be used. My first drafts usually have short chapters without a lot of description or even some detailed information. I know already this chapter will change drastically, but that's the fun of it for me. Scoping out the story, and then going back and making it better. Hope you enjoy.
“You look like you need some coffee. Lots of coffee.” Cody signaled the waitress. “Bad morning?”
Catherine tried to ignore the pounding inside her head. The dreams had left her tired, irritable and the early morning call from Cody about a new case hadn’t really improved her disposition.
“Coffee sounds great.” Catherine rubbed her temples, fighting the nausea the smell of fresh cooked eggs brought up.
Catherine shook her head. “No, thanks.”
Cody studied her from across the small table, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her naturally pale skin seemed even paler, more translucent this morning. Maybe he should let her sit this one out. They’d spent the last three weeks finding Timothy Bond. She definitely looked like she needed a rest. Still there was a chance, a small one albeit, that the kids were still alive.
Catherine took a sip of the strong black coffee, and gave him a wan smile. “So, what have you got for us?”
“It can wait a few more minutes. Let’s talk about you. You look like crap, Catherine. And even if I need you on this one, you told me yourself a psychic is only good if they’re a hundred percent.”
Catherine nodded, taking another sip of coffee. So what did she tell him? She’d watched her mother die in a dream? She could still feel the heat of the flames, smell the thick black smoke that had burned her eyes, filled her lungs. The glint of metal descending. Her mother had stolen twenty years of her life. Wasn’t that enough? And for the last seven years her mother had believed her dead. The world believed her dead. If she opened that door, could she close it again?
“I’m waiting.” Cody sipped his own coffee, one eyebrow raised in silent query.
“It was just a bad dream. Nothing really.”
“Dream or vision?”
Catherine shook her head, her gaze meeting his across the table. “Dream. I don’t think it meant anything, but still. . . .”
“Easy enough to check.”
Catherine wished the throbbing would stop, so she could think more clearly. Cody was right, it was easy enough to check if she did it right. More lies, of course. Lies to cover lies she’d already told.
“I can’t remember all of it. A fire, heavy black smoke and an old woman. I think there was someone behind her. I saw a glint of metal in the flames.”
“Where?” Cody, asked, taking notes.
“I think it was somewhere in Louisiana. The bayou maybe.”
“I’ll run it through the system, see if anything comes up.”
Catherine shook her head. “It could have happened months ago. I doubt you’re going to find anything.”
Cody smiled at her, closing the notepad. “Never know until you try.”
Catherine glanced at the manila folder lying next to him. The size told her there were pictures. And pictures usually meant death. “Tell me about this case.”
“Missing twins. Seven cases so far, across six states. We’re number eight.”
The throbbing increased inside Catherine’s head and she unconsciously rubbed her temples again. “When?”
“The parents were killed weren’t they?” Catherine didn’t have to be psychic to know he was holding something back. Something ugly.
Cody nodded, handing her the folder. “You may be glad you didn’t have breakfast.”
Catherine knew immediately something was wrong, the second she touched the folder. The throbbing escalated into a searing hot pain, ripping through her mind. The scream came from somewhere deep inside her as the darkness closed around her.
The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery - 99 cents on Amazon Kindle and Smashwords