Deceptions (The Mystical Encounter Series Book 2) by Kimberly Readnour Page A
Authors: Kimberly Readnour
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following him up the stairs. The sound of shuffling feet behind me proved that I wasn’t alone, and I hoped the footsteps were Detective Tanner’s and not Bart’s.
The sterility of Nicholas’s room surprised me; but then again, he’d been away at college and probably hadn’t had a chance to gather many belongings. With a quick scan of the room, I came up short on finding anything meaningful. There was nothing lying around that visually screamed “ I have special meaning .”
His bedroom matched the theme of the rest of the house—large. The bed, centered in the middle of the far wall, was made so properly it looked prepped for an army inspection. The covers were undisturbed, it appeared he hadn’t slept at home in days. His dresser drawers had a few expensive, decorative items displayed strategically on top, but nothing personal. I wondered if this was how it was being rich, this lack of personalization. If that was the case, count me out. I rather enjoyed my clutter.
Movement behind me caused me to glance back. Tanner, Bart, and two other policemen had followed us into the room. I turned my head around. Why had they followed Mr. Canter and me, and why the heck was Bart even here? I clamped my jaw shut and tried to focus as I started scanning the room again for items that would help spark a vision.
Noticing an alcove with a desk, I wandered over toward it. Besides normal items that would be on a desk, it contained nothing personal except a framed photograph of a girl. Finally, something of importance. I studied the picture for a moment. She appeared to be around my age. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t recognize her. The photograph didn’t give me a vision, so I moved on.
The bookshelves above the desk held various textbooks, but nothing out of the ordinary except a small, ornate metal box. Out of curiosity, I leaned over the desk for a closer inspection. It was rather peculiar, more like a piece of artwork than a jewelry box. It was dark gray with a slight sheen, gleaming dully in the reflected light. Pewter would be my guess for the type of material. The intricate, filigree designs etched into the metal, placed the time period in the twenties. I wasn’t an expert on designs, but my report I wrote a couple of years ago covered early twentieth century artifacts. Some of the pieces I studied mimicked this craftsmanship.
“This was his great–grandmother’s jewelry box,” Mr. Canter explained. “She had given it to Nicholas’s grandma, my mom, who gave it to Nick before she passed away,” Mr. Canter facial expressions softened when he picked up the unusual antique. He studied the piece, lost in some memory. “I’m surprised he still has it,” he murmured.
“May I?” I asked, holding out my hand.
“Yes, of course,” he agreed and handed over the box.
I took a deep breath to clear my mind before grabbing a hold of it. As my fingers encased the box, I closed my eyes. Flashes overcame my sight, and I let my body succumb to the vision.
The clinking sound of glass and the reverberations of laughter encircled my brain as a bar setting took shape. Nicholas trailed behind a burly, taller guy, keeping his head lowered. The six–foot tall guy strutted in front with a cocky swagger. Involuntarily flexing his arms, his biceps bulged, accentuated by his tight black muscle shirt. The stench of cigarettes lingered in the air as they continued along a darkened, narrow hallway. The dimmed sconces that hung against the blackened walls lent a soft light. They approached a door, and Nicholas threw back his shoulders and cocked his head as if refusing to succumb to the eerie setting.
The man stopped and pulled out a ring of keys to unlock the door before stepping aside to allow Nicholas to enter. A whoosh from the slammed door turned Nicholas’s head, and he flinched at the clicking of the lock. He obviously wasn’t leaving that tiny office until the man allowed him to.
Nicholas strolled over
The sterility of Nicholas’s room surprised me; but then again, he’d been away at college and probably hadn’t had a chance to gather many belongings. With a quick scan of the room, I came up short on finding anything meaningful. There was nothing lying around that visually screamed “ I have special meaning .”
His bedroom matched the theme of the rest of the house—large. The bed, centered in the middle of the far wall, was made so properly it looked prepped for an army inspection. The covers were undisturbed, it appeared he hadn’t slept at home in days. His dresser drawers had a few expensive, decorative items displayed strategically on top, but nothing personal. I wondered if this was how it was being rich, this lack of personalization. If that was the case, count me out. I rather enjoyed my clutter.
Movement behind me caused me to glance back. Tanner, Bart, and two other policemen had followed us into the room. I turned my head around. Why had they followed Mr. Canter and me, and why the heck was Bart even here? I clamped my jaw shut and tried to focus as I started scanning the room again for items that would help spark a vision.
Noticing an alcove with a desk, I wandered over toward it. Besides normal items that would be on a desk, it contained nothing personal except a framed photograph of a girl. Finally, something of importance. I studied the picture for a moment. She appeared to be around my age. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t recognize her. The photograph didn’t give me a vision, so I moved on.
The bookshelves above the desk held various textbooks, but nothing out of the ordinary except a small, ornate metal box. Out of curiosity, I leaned over the desk for a closer inspection. It was rather peculiar, more like a piece of artwork than a jewelry box. It was dark gray with a slight sheen, gleaming dully in the reflected light. Pewter would be my guess for the type of material. The intricate, filigree designs etched into the metal, placed the time period in the twenties. I wasn’t an expert on designs, but my report I wrote a couple of years ago covered early twentieth century artifacts. Some of the pieces I studied mimicked this craftsmanship.
“This was his great–grandmother’s jewelry box,” Mr. Canter explained. “She had given it to Nicholas’s grandma, my mom, who gave it to Nick before she passed away,” Mr. Canter facial expressions softened when he picked up the unusual antique. He studied the piece, lost in some memory. “I’m surprised he still has it,” he murmured.
“May I?” I asked, holding out my hand.
“Yes, of course,” he agreed and handed over the box.
I took a deep breath to clear my mind before grabbing a hold of it. As my fingers encased the box, I closed my eyes. Flashes overcame my sight, and I let my body succumb to the vision.
The clinking sound of glass and the reverberations of laughter encircled my brain as a bar setting took shape. Nicholas trailed behind a burly, taller guy, keeping his head lowered. The six–foot tall guy strutted in front with a cocky swagger. Involuntarily flexing his arms, his biceps bulged, accentuated by his tight black muscle shirt. The stench of cigarettes lingered in the air as they continued along a darkened, narrow hallway. The dimmed sconces that hung against the blackened walls lent a soft light. They approached a door, and Nicholas threw back his shoulders and cocked his head as if refusing to succumb to the eerie setting.
The man stopped and pulled out a ring of keys to unlock the door before stepping aside to allow Nicholas to enter. A whoosh from the slammed door turned Nicholas’s head, and he flinched at the clicking of the lock. He obviously wasn’t leaving that tiny office until the man allowed him to.
Nicholas strolled over
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