Page 34 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes
“Hmm.” Sam rocks back in his chair comfortably. “If I could get my hands on the remains, it’s possible I might be able to get something from them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t just see spirits like your Tristan.” He shrugs. “I can do other things.”
“Like what?” I ask, deeply curious.
“I haven’t quite figured it all out yet, but sometimes when I touch things, I get…” He waves his hand as he tries to articulate his thoughts. “Feelings… images… I don’t really know how to describe it. I suppose you’d call it a psychic connection. It doesn’t always work, but I can usually get enough of an impression to get started in the right direction.”
I let out a whistle. “No wonder you’ve become so popular as a PI in such a short space of time.”
Sam shrugs again. “I suppose there’s a slight upside to being beaten and left for dead.”
His tone is nonchalant, like he’s trying to brush off the major trauma he’s suffered. I want to say something, but I don’t think he wants to hear it yet, so I don’t push him even though I can see the shadows in his eyes.
“What’s it like?” I ask, segueing away from the painful topic. “Being able to see the things you do, I mean.”
“It’s…” Sam trails off into silence to formulate his response. “Well, it was jarring at first, I guess. I woke up disoriented and in pain in that hospital, and at first, I thought I was hallucinating given the level of pain relief they had me on. When I could still see them as they began to ween me off the morphine, I thought I was going crazy. But then came all the rest of it—touching things or people and getting images and feelings that weren’t my own. It was too much. By that point I really was on the verge of a breakdown.”
“What happened?” I shift in my seat, wincing as my leg throbs painfully.
“I met someone in the hospital. An older woman named Essie who was sitting on a bench in the walled garden when I snuck out for a cigarette. Mum had been driving me mad fussing over me and I needed some space. The hospital was so full of people, the living and the dead, that my head was a mess. But I walked into that garden…” He breaks off, shaking his head in remembrance. “It was so peaceful, I couldn’t even hear the traffic just outside the hospital grounds, just some birds and the rippling of the breeze through the cherry tree in the corner of the garden. I finally felt like I could breathe for the first time in weeks and then I saw her.”
“Essie?” I guess, leaning in as close as my cast will allow, glad he’s finally opening up to me.
Sam nods. “She was in her eighties, a tiny fragile little thing with white hair. She was sitting on the bench in her dressing gown with her walking frame parked next to her, just smiling.” He chuckles. “She looked up at me and she just knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I had the Sight, as she called it. She said I’d gone through something terrible, but that it was a metamorphosis. That it was painful but I would emerge from it changed, stronger, and more beautiful.” He reaches up subconsciously and traces the scar running down the side of his face. “She said I would never again see the world the same way.”
“Wow,” I murmur. “Did it help?”
“Yes, she did.” He smiles softly at the memory of her. “She’d been in the hospital for a while and somehow knew she didn’t have long left. We met every day in that garden, and I learned all about the amazing life she’d lived. She was gifted too. She taught me so much about the things I can now do that it gave me the distraction I needed to stop me from obsessing over the attack. I sometimes feel like we were supposed to meet. That our paths were meant to cross, even if it was just for a brief moment in time, and I’m so grateful I had the chance to know her.”
“Did you keep in contact when you moved down here?”
Sam shakes his head slowly. “Not exactly. The night before I was discharged from the hospital, I woke to find her standing at the foot of my bed. She smiled at me and disappeared. She’d passed away in her sleep hours earlier, but she’d come to say goodbye anyway.”
“That’s so sad,” I murmur.
“No, not at all.” He shakes his head. “She was ready, it was her time. There was no sadness, only joy. Her husband and her family were waiting for her on the other side.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like to do the things you and Tris can,” I admit. “It’s all still so new for him. He’s still trying to get his head around it, and I–”
“You’re trying to be strong for him,” Sam finishes.
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t, but I know you, Danny, you always put everyone else first. It’s the way you’re built. Finding out what Tristan can do, then I turn up being able to do the things I can? And I’m guessing hearing Harrison is a witch couldn’t have been easy.”
“The jury’s still out on that one.” I rub my aching forehead. “I’m not sure I believe in witchcraft, but I can’t deny the things I’ve seen with Tris.”
“We can all see how much you love Tristan and you’re trying to make everything easier on him, but it’s okay to admit it’s freaking you out, even a little.”
I blow out a deep breath. “Okay, it’s freaking me out,” I admit, knowing that if anyone would get it, it would be Sam. “All of this is just so far outside my sphere of experience that I’m not sure how to deal with it all.”
“It’s not like it comes with a manual.” Sam chuckles. “You’re doing great, if it helps.”