Mind Games Read online

  The music stopped, distracting Sparrow from the binding bands of gray plumes. She squeezed her eyes shut and rushed over to the iPod resting in the speaker cradle and pressed the PLAY button, expecting the music to roar. She snapped her fingers and shook her hips, feeling stupid when she heard her voice screaming the lyrics a cappella while she danced around sans music. She checked the volume on the speaker.

  “Sparrow, remember me?”

  The unexpected voice made her jump. “Who’s there?”

  The voice didn’t respond. She grabbed a scalpel from the metal tray and turned around lightning quick, stabbing at the airy, ghostly image.

  The thin blade fell from her trembling hand, sticking her in the foot. Her slack mouth didn’t release the scream trapped in the back of her throat. Her eyes bugged at the young girl dripping wet in torn, faded jeans and a T-shirt. The girl’s golden hair clung in waves along her narrow face. Her liquid, pale blue eyes stared at Sparrow. The girl extended her arms, and Sparrow let loose the scream that had formed deep in the pit of her stomach and crawled its way back up to her vocal cords. She took a step back from the girl’s insistent reach. Sparrow’s hand shook. She blindly reached behind her for a weapon on the metal tray, toppling it over. The hazy apparition rolled over her arms, turning her hands palm up, revealing bruised and bloodied wrists.

  “Stop him, Sparrow. You have to stop him.”

  Chills multiplied up and down her spine. The same words had dripped off Dana’s dead lips.

  “Stay away. Get back. If you come any closer I swear I’ll kill you.”

  The girl laughed. “You can’t kill a dead person.”

  * * *

  Derrick cleaned the inside of the RV and then dropped it off for a tune-up. Nothing needed repairing, but the “change oil” light flickered. He’d have it back in a couple of days, and in the meantime he could replace the supplies the kids had destroyed. They’d taken several packets of pain reliever and hypodermic needles. An unmarked and locked cabinet had the methadone they’d wanted. Derrick had the only set of keys and access to the lethal drug.

  He drove his Honda Accord to Sparrow’s, zipping in and out of traffic. He hadn’t planned on seeing her tonight, but he needed her help. He turned onto La Naranja Avenida. The wide street lined with manicured palm trees and a pristine median was a far cry from the pothole-ridden and scarred street he’d come from. One end of the city feasted in the lap of luxury and the other pilfered in the bowels of squalor. Poverty existed in the land of opportunity. The middle class continued to shrink while the rich got richer and the poor got poorer. On some days he didn’t know if he was making a difference. He turned on the radio. The rock music blared, beating the philosophical thoughts from his head.

  Sparrow’s car was parked in her usual space. He pulled into the guest space and walked up the sand-covered sidewalk to her turquoise front door. A female screamed. He shoved open the door and rushed inside, racing through the living room toward the high-pitched horror. Sparrow clutched a pair of scissors, screaming and stabbing at the air.

  He rushed toward her and dodged to the side before she could stab him with the gleaming blades. “Sparrow, it’s me. Put the scissors down.” He grabbed hold of her wrist.

  She dropped the scissors to the floor. Her body trembled. He pulled her close to him. She slumped against him. He tilted her face back. Her eyes rolled in their sockets.

  “Oh, no, baby, stay with me.”

  She fainted. He carried her across the hall to her bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and checked her pulse. It was strong. Something had frightened the hell out of her in that room. “Sparrow? Hey, baby? Are you with me?”

  She stirred a little. He patted her hand, and she squeezed his palm. “I’m getting you a cold washcloth.”

  He went into her bathroom and returned with a moistened washcloth. He pushed her bangs to the side and placed the cool cloth on her forehead. He held her hand, giving her time to come to.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I-I think…” A tear rolled from the corner of her eye.

  “It’s okay, stay still. We don’t have to talk about this right now. I’m going to see if you have any orange juice. Are you diabetic?”

  She shook her head from side to side.

  “Well, it couldn’t hurt for you to drink a small glass.”

  He returned with the pulp-laced juice, surprised to find her out of bed and across the hall in the guest room that she’d converted to a yoga studio. He maneuvered past the dismembered doll parts and held out the glass of juice.

  “You should drink this.”

  She accepted the glass with a blank expression on her face, but he detected something troublesome in her eyes. They stood in silence. She drank the orange juice to avoid speaking, while he looked around the room. He had never seen a home yoga studio before.

  Breathtaking landscapes lined the light gray walls of the windowless room, something he found peculiar, considering the picturesque artwork, featuring autumn trails, sun-glistened rocks and mountains, blue shorelines with bubbling waves, and stormy skylines cracked with lightning. A long bar was mounted against one wall. He guessed she used it for stretching.

  He walked over to the array of knives, scalpels, and scissors scattered on the dark gray-carpeted floor. He turned over the familiar metal tray and placed the weapons on top. Disassembled dolls and plastic baggies filled with hair littered the floor. He placed the metal tray on the oblong table centered against the wall and then turned back to her. He didn’t know where to begin with the questions. This morning he’d found her disoriented, staring out at the ocean, and now this. His eyes went from the odd assortment of doll parts on the floor to her. She was out of orange juice and out of stalling time.

  “Derrick, I know this stuff looks weird and you probably think I’m crazy, but it isn’t what you think.”

  “What is all of this?”

  She picked up the doll torso with the white lily stuck in its chest. “This is art. I was going to tell you about my hobby, but I was afraid you’d think I was weird. I wanted to tell you after we knew each other better.”

  Great. The last thing he needed was a girlfriend who withheld information from him because even she thought her own interests far too strange for human consumption.

  “Go on.”

  “I recently got involved with the Alternative Doll Convention. I-I have a real aversion to the stereotypical images of women, especially growing up here in Southern California, so by accident I came across this website when I was looking for Barbie collectors. My mother loved the iconic doll, and I have a collection that would rival Tori Spelling’s. Anyway, when I learned about the Alternative Doll Convention, I decided to destroy the dolls and create art.”

  Hmm, maybe this wasn’t as bad as he thought. He was looking for a woman with self-confidence, one that wasn’t constantly shooting herself up with Botox and searching for the fountain of youth. From the outside looking in, the array of severed doll parts, not to mention the bagged appendages and hair, seemed weird and creepy, but in retrospect it was probably very healthy for a woman to destroy what she secretly envied to boost her own self-worth and confidence. It made good sense to him, but it still didn’t explain why she was screaming and stabbing the air.

  “Maybe you can show me the website later, but right now, I’d like to know what made you scream and nearly stab me to death.”

  She took in a deep breath and loudly exhaled. He guessed she was relieved of one situation, but her green eyes avoided him, which told him she had some explaining to do.

  “Derrick, my back was turned to the door and I heard someone say, ‘Sparrow, remember me?’ She didn’t respond when I asked ‘Who’s there?’ I freaked out and automatically started to defend myself. That’s when I saw her.”

  “Who?” He placed his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her face, searching for a logical answer. No one was in the room now and no one had run out of it when he busted in.

 
“The girl. She was dripping wet, standing right there in torn, faded jeans and a T-shirt.” She pointed.

  Derrick walked over to the spot on the floor Sparrow pointed at and knelt down to touch it. The matted, dark carpet was soaked. He rubbed his thumb along his moist fingers and looked up at her. She had told him truth, but her wide eyes conveyed the same shock running through his system. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but where was the person who’d broken into her house?

  Chapter 7

  Sparrow had had one hell of a morning, and this last vision made it even harder to keep it together. Her life was unraveling around her in slow motion, taking her sanity bit by bit. Damn, she didn’t want him to see her like this. She needed time alone to figure out what was going on.

  She followed Derrick through the house while he searched for signs of an intruder he wouldn’t find. She wrapped her hand around his arm. “Stop. She’s gone.”

  He shook free from her grasp. “Did you see her leave? When I came in, you were stabbing at the air with a pair of scissors.” He continued from one room to the other.

  How could she explain the vision to Derrick? The girl in her house was the same girl she’d seen in the ocean. And that girl was dead. She couldn’t tell him. He’d take her to the hospital for a psychological evaluation, and that scared her more than the dead girl haunting her.

  “This doesn’t make sense. If someone was here, why didn’t she take anything? Why did she ask you if you remembered her? Did you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? Did you recognize her or not?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a second. He dragged his hand through his hair.

  “She looked familiar, but Derrick, honestly, I don’t know. It all happened so fast, and she scared me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m worried about you. I’m certain I would have run right into this girl if she got nervous and ran out. I heard you scream, so either she’s still in the house, or she’s invisible. I think you should go to the hospital and get checked out. Maybe you need an evaluation.”

  Hospital? Evaluation? She knew it. He didn’t have to complete his sentence. He couldn’t force her to have a psychological evaluation. How could she tell him about the visions now?

  “No.” She folded her arms across her chest, meeting his eyes. “Absolutely not. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “This morning you told me you heard someone calling your name, and you don’t remember leaving your house. Now you’re telling me someone was in your house and asked if you remembered them. I’m sorry, but I can’t help but wonder if you’re under too much stress. This volunteer work can get to a person. Maybe you’re getting too attached to the kids you see.” His chest inflated, and he placed his hands over her shoulders. She didn’t appreciate his protective attitude. She could handle working with those beat-down kids just like he did.

  She laughed. “Me? What about you? You spend hours driving the RV in some of the worst areas of the city helping homeless runaways and barely take a salary for yourself from the real patients you see.”

  A shadow darkened his normally pleasant eyes and his lids lowered. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step back. She’d struck a nerve with him.

  “All my patients are real. All of them. Not just the ones that can afford to pay me. As for my salary, I don’t ever recall sharing my net worth with you. I suppose that’s something people from Crystal Cove are accustomed to flaunting. Sorry to disappoint.”

  She cupped her hands around her nose and mouth, outraged by his insinuation. It wasn’t like Derrick to be coarse and rude. She wasn’t even sure how to respond to his squinted, glaring eyes and superior attitude. Her hands fell from her face. She released a deep breath and clapped her hands to her hips.

  “Dr. Sloan, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me. I only meant that you work too hard. You don’t enjoy life.” He’d better reconsider his assumption about Crystal Cove and its residents.

  “I like helping people, Ms. Von Langley.” He ran his hand through his mop of hair. He winced and lowered his arm, massaging at the pain.

  “And so do I,” she replied, concerned at the pain watering his eyes.

  As a sort of peace offering, she went to him and rubbed at the ache he was trying to reach. She pushed the heel of her hand into his knotted muscle and jumped back when he yelled something that sounded like ouch.

  “That hurts. Give it a day or two and then I’ll take you up on a massage.”

  She slid her hand under the tails of his button-up shirt and felt a swollen lump. She massaged her fingers into the fleshy mass. Derrick’s head met his shoulder.

  “Okay, let’s have a look.”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  She came to the front of him and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Sparrow…” He grabbed her hands.

  “Oh, no, I took my shirt off for you this morning. Obviously, you’re hurt.”

  She unfastened the rest of the shirt buttons and pushed it off his shoulders. The large raised and purplish-blue bruise surprised her. “Derrick, what happened?”

  “I was out and…”

  “And one of those kids attacked you? Unbelievable. I think you’re the one who needs a doctor.” She stepped behind him and continued to examine the knotted wound, touching the soft spot.

  “I’m fine. Besides, it’s the kick in the crotch that has me more worried.”

  “What? Let me see.”

  He spun around and looked at her with large eyes that said, You’re kidding, right? She clasped her hands around her mouth and nose, hiding behind her embarrassment and the laugh bubbling in the back of her throat. Her cheeks grew warm.

  “I don’t think so, but maybe I’ll let you massage it in a day or two.” He burst out laughing.

  She dropped her hands from her face and laughed with him before she slugged him in the arm. “Nurse Sparrow to the rescue.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. “I haven’t played doctor in years.”

  “Well then, this should be fun. How’s the RV?”

  He dropped his hands from around her waist, paced, and dragged his hand back through his ruffled hair. “They raided it looking for methadone while I was on the ground writhing in pain. I got up and started the damn thing with the two of them in it. The boy jumped out the back and the girl who kneed me was standing on the metal bumper. The kid yelled for her to jump. I panicked and stopped the RV so fast she fell off the back too.”

  Sparrow’s hands flew over her face, and she gasped, anticipating the worst.

  He waved his hand back and forth in the air. “She’s not dead. But she’s hurt. I think she might have broken her ankle. I don’t know.” He ran both of his hands through his hair, squeezing fistfuls of locks at the sides of his head. “I need to find her. I have to know she’s all right.”

  “Oh, Derrick.” Sparrow got on her toes and reached up for his hands, pulling them from his skull. She squeezed both of them in hers. “It’s not your fault. She’ll be okay.”

  “But what if she isn’t? That’s why I’m here. Will you help me find her?”

  “Me? Derrick, I think you should leave well enough alone.”

  “Yes. You. She might not spook at the sight of another female. I heard him call her Angel. She’ll trust you. She’s going to think I’m some perv if I try to pick her up in my car. I don’t know if she’ll recognize me. She’ll be more comfortable if she sees a woman in the car. She’ll trust you.”

  His pleading eyes and begging expression on his face sent a slow tremble through her body. She’ll trust you. She took a deep breath. Her hands started to shake. She’ll trust you. The dead girl flashed before her. Derrick’s speech blurred. Her stomach churned. She clasped her trembling hands around her face, feeling like a scared teenager all over again. She remembered the night she and another girl secretly set off for the beach. The last time she helped rescue a runa
way, the girl ended up dead. She shook free of the memory.

  “I shouldn’t have asked this of you. Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.” He pulled her hands from her face. “Baby, you’re shaking. Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you while the doctor looks you over.”

  “No, Derrick. I’m just a little rattled.” She shook his hands from hers and went into her studio, grabbing an oversized bag from the walk-in closet. She stuffed a thick yoga mat inside the bag. Not that she needed the mat. She had plenty at her teaching studio. “I’ve got a yoga class in an hour, and I don’t need to see a doctor. I tell you what, come back later, and I’ll help you find the girl.” She’d saved herself from a trip to the hospital. “Besides, if I need to see a doctor, I’ve got you and my father.”

  She crammed a towel, brush, hair ties, and CDs into the bag then rushed to her bedroom in search of her hooded sweat jacket, with Derrick on her heels.

  “Well, then maybe you should talk to your dad about this.”

  My father is the last person I should talk to. He overanalyzes everyone.

  She dropped the oversized bag and shoved her hand against her hip. “What are you suggesting? My father treats adolescents with behavioral problems and emotional disorders.”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, other than I think you’re stressed out. He’s the doctor of psychology, not me. Obviously, someone was here. The floor is wet. The question is: how did she get out without me seeing her? Something else has me puzzled.”

  She yanked her jacket from the hanger and slammed the closet door shut. “What?” She stormed around the room cramming more stuff she didn’t need into the bag.

  “That spot on the floor is soaked. If she left through the front door, I’m sure she would have left wet tracks on the carpet on her way out.”

  She shrugged. He looked over his shoulder to her studio and then at the sliding glass doors to her balcony. He crouched down and touched the floor. “It’s not wet.” He went back into her studio, playing detective. He wouldn’t let this go.