An Excerpt from
Past Tense
A new paranormal mystery by Samantha Hunter
Copyright © 2010 Samantha Hunter and reprinted here with her permission
Prologue
1996, Boston, Tarot Alley, Talismans Tarot Shop
Doris Turner opened the door at the back of the shop, yelling up the narrow stairs, “Larry! Sophie! You’re going to be late.”
Today was the big class trip. Sophie had been talking about it for weeks, and she was probably changing her clothes and hair for the twentieth time. Doris smiled. Her niece was pretty as a picture, growing up into a beautiful young woman who was enjoying the things in life that a young girl should. Clothes, boys, shoes. Doris had given up those things for a higher purpose, and she didn’t regret her choices. Still, she wanted more for Sophie.
Larry’s heavy, booted step and Sophie’s lighter, tapping ones made their way across the floor of the upstairs apartment. Sophie was wearing the new heels they’d shopped for the previous weekend. She’d earned the money helping her father with the cash register and the stock at Talismans, and she deserved to have fun. Doris didn’t mind running the shop by herself for the morning, though it wasn’t as easy for her as it once was. She wasn’t really alone, she thought, smiling as she watched several spirits wander the shop. Sometimes they did that, just wandered around, looking. If they asked her for help, she did her best. Otherwise she let them be. They could not, however, help her around the shop, unfortunately.
The bell over the door rang, and Doris turned to greet her first client of the day, a short, stocky man, probably in his twenties.
“I’ll be with you shortly. You can take a seat back in the reading room or look around if you like.”
Before she turned away, she spotted a mark on the inside of his wrist as his sleeve pulled, the image of an eye superimposed on the coiled form of a serpent. She froze. Wisdom and vision combined. It was the mark of transcendent vision; the ability to see things that ordinary humans weren’t supposed to see. The snake wrapped around itself much like the organization they were a part of, the outer coils hiding the inner circle, the exposed fangs indicating it was always ready to strike. Doris had the same tattoo on the back of her left thigh.
Next, she saw the gun he removed from beneath his jacket.
“What do you want?”
Cold fear grabbed her heart in a tight fist. Every spirit around her screamed run, run, run inside of her mind. . . but she knew running wouldn’t accomplish anything.
“I think you know.”
“You have no business coming here,” she said, putting the counter between them. She had to keep the man busy until she knew her brother and niece were out. How she wished she’d listened when Larry wanted to install an alarm behind the counter, but Doris hated electronic gadgets.
The man stepped closer, his eyes holding hers though she tried to look away.
She could feel him prying into her thoughts, greasy fingers peeling back layers of her mind, picking out what he wanted, throwing away anything else. The pain was excruciating, and she grabbed the side of the counter, trying not to give in. He had power for one so young.
“Doris, you’ve crossed a line,” he said, tsk-tsking her.
Anger blossomed and took over fear. “You’re in over your head, boy. They’ll use you until there’s nothing left and-“
Both of their gazes swung toward the sound of a door opening and closing above. Doris held her breath. Larry would come down to get the car and Sophie wouldn’t be far behind, stopping in to say good morning before she left.
Sweet girl. Doris’s heart ached from fear, not for herself, but for her family.
She had to find a way to keep them from coming into the shop. If he got near Sophie, he’d know her secrets. Doris had been trying to keep her from them, to protect her, but now they’d know.
“I guess we only have one option left,” the man said, hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. “We have to know what secrets you’ve been keeping, or at the very least, silence them forever. And anyone you might have told.”
Doris was horrified and rushed out from behind the counter as she made her way to the door, shouting, “Larry, Sophie, stay out!”
She held the door as Larry tried to get through. This was never supposed to happen. She’d been careful. Apparently not careful enough.
“Doris! What’s going on?” Larry’s shout reached her as he pushed against the door. Somehow she held him back.
There was a soft noise and Doris gasped as wood splintered and exploded by her head and the pushing against the other side of the door ceased. She looked down in horror as Larry’s blood seeped under the door, spreading near her feet. The world spun. The noise repeated itself and her head hit the door, a bitter, burning pain bursting inside her back.
Someone cried out, screaming, and then a terrific crash followed on the other side of the door. Doris couldn’t keep track of what was happening, pain changing to a cool numbness that took over all else. She heard more shots, but didn’t see where they hit.
“No. Not Sophie, not my Sophie,” were the tarot reader’s last words.
Chapter One
Boston, Tarot Alley, 2009
Sophie took the stairs, one hand always on the rail, stepping with care as she made her way down to her shop, Talismans, where her client waited patiently by a display of books. She’d completely lost track of time and Margaret had called her down before leaving to let her know Patrice was waiting.
“Patrice, I’m so sorry. I got involved in class work and lost track of time,” Sophie explained, greeting her good friend and taking the older woman’s hand in hers.
Patrice Bledsoe wasn’t the kind of woman most people would expect to find in a funky occult shop. Everything from her elegant chignon to the Italian leather boots screamed wealth and sophistication. She was also one of the nicest people Sophie knew and a friend of her late aunt’s. That alone made her special. Patrice was a fragile link to the family Sophie had lost years ago, but they had developed their own relationship over the years. Patrice was more like an aunt than a client.
“It’s no problem at all, dear. I appreciate you for meeting me so late in the day. I know it was a little last minute.”
“I’d always make time for you, Patrice, you know that,” Sophie said with a smile, ignoring her aching back and the headache that came from sitting through two computer science classes and reading text books for the past three hours.
“Margaret said to tell you she’ll bring back dinner,” Patrice offered. “I guess she’ll be taking over soon, yes?”
“Yes. She’s been working inventory, and we both missed dinner, I guess.”
“You girls work too hard,” Patrice said.
“Well, things will settle down soon. I’m in my last semester at school, and the soon the store will be Margaret’s.”
“Margaret is lovely, and I’m sure she’ll do a wonderful job here, but it’s still a big change for you. When does the turnover take place?”
“In a few weeks – the lawyers and real estate people are doing their thing. Margaret will make some changes, but I think she’ll keep the place more or less as it’s always been. I couldn’t have let it go otherwise.”
“That’s good to hear. I understand you wanting to get on with your life. So many exciting things, getting married, a new career. . . .”
“I know. I can hardly keep up with it all. But you also know I will always read for you, no matter what,” Sophie offered.
“That would be lovely,” Patrice glowed, looking relieved. “You’re so like Doris, Sophie.”
“Thank you.”
“She’d be proud of you, how you’ve grown up,” Patrice said sincerely. “You don’t remember much of what she did, do you?”
Sophie’s throat constricted slightly. “I assume she did pretty much what I do, reading cards for people. Aside of helping Dad with the store a little, you know I don’t remember much of what she did, though, no. Of course, I don’t remember anything of the attacks.”
Lacunar amnesia, the doctors had called it, or the loss of memory of a specific event or set of events. It was very much like what had happened in the movie she’d watched years later, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, where people purposely had memories of any particular person and all associated events connected to that person erased, except that Sophie’s memory loss wasn’t purposeful. It had just happened.
Would she remember if she could? At this point, she wasn’t sure. It was so long ago and had been painful enough. Still, if she had any memory of who had killed her family, she would willingly invite that pain in order to bring the killer to justice. Police, however, speculated that she hadn’t seen anything, as they had found her on the closed side of the door with her father, who’d died immediately from a gunshot wound to the head.
They also figured she’d fallen down the stairs trying to get to her father and her aunt, but the amnesia was psychological trauma. She’d received a concussion from the fall, as well as a broken arm and a Grade 3 PCL tear on her left knee, but those had healed. Her memories, however, had never returned. Sophie had forgotten anything regarding her aunt’s work, as well as what happened that day in the shop.
Ironically, the fall had saved her life, police speculated. If Sophie had been near the door or had entered the shop, it was likely that she would have been shot, too. For a while afterward, she’d sometimes wished she had been.
After her initial stay in the hospital and her first knee surgery, they’d released her to live with Patrice, who had insisted on taking her in. Patrice had paid the medical bills, though Sophie had insisted on paying every cent back over the years. Sophie had lost everything, but in a way, Patrice had, too. Alan was gone most of the time, and her daughter Angela was gone, killed years before. Patrice had a hole to fill, and taking care of Sophie was something that helped them both.
Sophie’s life had been inevitably altered. She’d tried to keep up with school while recovering at Patrice’s house, but being in and out of surgeries made it impossible. She hadn’t always been grateful for Patrice’s help, as what she wanted most was her family back and her normal life. Patrice, having dealt with her own grief, understood. Once Sophie had gotten through the worst of it, she knew what a good friend she’d found in Patrice. She owed her so much.
After six months with Patrice, Sophie had insisted she go back home. Patrice had been reluctant, but offer to come by and help, and also arranged for others to come in and help, but eventually, Sophie just wanted to get on with life. School, and anything resembling the normal high school life she’d almost had evaporated – she quit and got her GED instead. To be an emancipated minor in the state of Massachusetts, she’d had to prove she could make a living on her own, and that meant reopening the store. So she did. She simply could not let Patrice continue to support her.
Unable to climb the stairs without help, she’d kept a cot in the back room, and as much as she’d wanted to be independent, she’d relied heavily on Patrice and then Roger to get her up and down the stairs, and to do her errands, to help with lifting, and myriad other things while she focused on re-building the business, which became her obsession. Eventually her doctors admitted that the surgical fixes weren’t effective, and a full-joint replacement finally rendered her mobile again. Still, every time she climbed those stairs from the store to the apartment, she wondered about that day.
Patrice smiled as they made their way down to the reading room, taking their seats. “I know she wanted you to have a normal life, to protect your innocence, I think. I was never sure if she’d want me to share what she did for me. But you’re an adult now, and if you have questions, I’d be happy to tell you what I can. I think she’d want you to know. I know she’d love be here for your wedding, and your father, too.”
“I know. I wish they were here, too,” Sophie said with a sigh, feeling tired and a little sad, and needing to refocus. “So, let’s get started,” Sophie said as she shuffled.
Sophie was always flattered to be compared to her aunt, of course, but Aunt Doris had been. . .Aunt Doris. To her, Doris had been comfort, happiness and home-baked cookies. As special as Patrice was, nothing really ever took the place of her real family.
Sophie had always known there was something special about them, her father and her aunt, but that hadn’t mattered as much as the fact that they’d loved her. Love was never in short supply until they were gone. Sophie had felt its absence sharply every day since, even though Patrice, Roger and now Margaret had all helped fill in some of the gaps.
Sophie on the other hand, lacked any psychic talent. She was a tarot reader from necessity and practice, and she found most people who came in for readings appreciated insight, but mostly they needed someone to talk to. The cards were often more of a medium for conversation than anything else, and Sophie enjoyed the work.
“What are we reading for tonight?” she asked, shaking off her thoughts and moving things along.
Patrice perked up. “Okay, well, you know I’ve been working with Stewart?”
“Margaret mentioned it, yes,” Sophie nodded, knowing Stewart Whitman, a life coach and a friend, had found quite a few clients through his referrals from the shop.
“We’re working on letting go of bad energy from my past and getting rid of items which had negative ‘vibes’ for me. I need some feedback on that.”
“Sounds good. Maybe we should use the Death card as a signifier for tonight’s reading?”
Patrice looked surprised. “Death?”
“As a signifier of change and letting go of what holds you back in order to move forward, it seems appropriate. It sounds very much like what you’re doing,” Sophie said, finding the card in the deck and placing it on the table between them.
“I guess that makes sense.” Patrice paused. “You look a little pale, dear.”
“It’s just been a long day, and I’m on the tail end of the flu-don’t worry, though I’m not contagious.”
“You should be resting,” Patrice said solicitously.
“I’m past the worst of it, really. So, what items are you getting rid of?”
“Oh, some odd ends that might be worth more sold or donated than kept around. There’s a painting that has collected dust in the attic for years, but it was a family heirloom, and a few necklaces left to me by my mother. I never wear them, anyway. Never have. She and I never got along, though she was still my mother, so I kept them. But really, why continue to do that when every time I see them they only dredge up bad memories?”
In spite of her considerable wealth, Patrice wore no jewelry except for her diamond-encrusted wedding band. Not even an engagement ring intruded on the expensive manicure that made sixty-year-old hands look half their age.
“Anything else?”
“An antique chair up in the guest room that’s always irritated me. There’s something about it. It came with the house, and I never liked it. It has to go, though Alan doesn’t agree. I suppose he could take it in the divorce.”
Sophie looked up in surprise. “You’re getting a divorce?”
As close as she’d been to Patrice over the years, her husband remained a stranger to Sophie. Rarely around, she’d had only the shortest of conversations with him in all the time she had spent at their home. As Patrice was the one with the money, though, he’d never argued, that Sophie knew of, anyway. A Harvard administrator and professor, Sophie had the general impression he wasn’t the most endearing guy on the planet but she was still surprised to hear they might be splitting up.
“Oh dear, I thought I’d mentioned that. I’m all muddled lately, but yes. I haven’t done anything official yet, though I did tell Alan that I’ve had enough. Ever since we lost Angela, it’s been more of a business partnership than a marriage. A charade. It’s time for both of us to move on.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Patrice.” Sophie had spoken and read often for Patrice concerning the death of her daughter fifteen years ago in a freak-car accident while away at school. Patrice had been devastated, and Sophie knew it was shortly after that when she’d started coming to Talismans.
“Alan didn’t take the news well, I’m afraid. It makes me wonder if I do have my head on straight, at my age, to be on my own.”
“You have to do what’s right for you, Patrice,” Sophie commented, thinking age had little to do with it. Why be unhappy at any age? It sounded like Patrice had wasted enough years.
“Anyway, so I brought the necklaces to Noble’s to have them appraised and cleaned-oh, which reminds me,” Patrice said suddenly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a slip of paper that she stuffed into her purse. “I almost forgot I put this here. I’m awful about putting things in my coat pockets and then forgetting. Anyway, anything you can tell me to help me think this all through would be most helpful.”
Sophie focused, absently rubbing her knee. Even though it didn’t hurt, she’d never broken the habit borne of years where the joint, before they’d finally settle
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, the second novel in the Jake Lassier series.
makes an excellent point for all of us who are buying the Odyssey Editions ebooks. Although it seems reasonable to expect that Amazon’s lawyers made sure they had ironclad agreements to protect their customers’ downloads of these Odyssey Editions ebooks, the fact that there’s some disagreement about who are the rightsholders is a very good reason for making an off-Kindle backup of the files of any copies you purchase and download. Presumably that would give you some protection, via Kindle apps or Calibre, to be able to continue reading them the unlikely event that a judge reached past Odyssey Editions and ordered Amazon to remove the ebooks from readers’ Kindles. (I call it an unlikely event because I believe that if such a legal remedy were on the table, Amazon could sustain a claim that such a remedy would cause irreparable harm to its customer relationships and would be able to suppress that proposed remedy in favor of a shift of some portion of the monetary revenues or royalties from Odyssey Editions to the hypothetically prevailing rightsholders.)
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