Flashback (7 page)

Up to this point, Kane’s tone had been easygoing, friendly even. Then the conversation took a sharp turn.

“So are you fully recovered now, Max?” Kane asked.

“Recovered?”

“From your visits to all those doctors, when you were younger,” replied Kane.

“How do you know about that?”

“We make it our business to know these things,” Kane told him, with a dismissive sweep of his hand.

“Who are
we
?” said Max.

“The police, of course,” Kane replied, with a smile that sent shivers down Max’s spine. “You’ve moved schools a lot too, haven’t you?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just trying to get to know a little more about what makes you tick, Max,” Kane explained, smiling again.

Max shuffled in discomfort in his chair. How could this guy know so much about him? Could someone get all this from his medical records? And did the police even have the ability or the right to do that at such short notice? After all, he’d only met Carrington recently. They couldn’t have been watching him for that long. And were these guys even the police anyway? None of them had introduced themselves with a title like “inspector” or “detective”. What was going on?

“Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble, Max,” said Kane with another pleasant, but deeply unnerving, smile. “This is all standard procedure. Just relax.”

Kane’s stare became more intense, and he seemed to be concentrating deeply. Max felt his eyelids drooping. Suddenly, it was as if he was on the other side of the mirrored wall. He was watching himself being interviewed by Connor and Drake, then he blacked out. When Max came to, he was still in the chair and Kane was offering him the water bottle. Connor and Drake had returned and were standing over by the door.

“Are you okay, Max?” said Kane. “You passed out there for a moment.”

“What happened?” Max asked, feeling decidedly groggy.

“You passed out,” Kane repeated. “It’s not that uncommon if you’re stressed. Do you need the medical officer here at the station to check you over?”

“No, no,” Max stammered, shaking his head. “No, I’ll be fine. I’m okay.”

“Well, if you’re sure?” said Kane, handing Max the bottle. “Here, have a drink.”

Max took the top off the bottle and rapidly consumed half the contents in a few short gulps. He had a splitting headache, reminiscent of the one he’d experienced when he’d touched the gravestone. He still felt queasy and just wanted to get out of the police station as soon as possible.

“He’s clean, Connor,” Kane declared, standing up. “You can check up on that story about the school project if you like, but he’s pretty mixed up, like we thought when we checked his medical history.”

Kane left the room, flashing Max another of his signature smiles on his way out the door.

“Okay, you can go,” said Drake.

“You can collect your stuff from the front,” Connor added.

Max gathered up his belongings from the officer at the desk, wondering if the uniformed cops were aware of what had happened in the interview room. As soon as he was out of sight of the police station, Max ran, covering six blocks before he felt safe enough to catch his breath. His head was no longer pounding, but his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Two people had likely been murdered, both right after Max had spoken to them. And now he seemed to be under surveillance himself, either by the police or by someone much more sinister. Max was terrified, but he knew the name of someone who might just be able to help him. It was a long shot, but Max was certain that he was running out of both options and time.

FLIPPING THROUGH THE
directory in a phone booth, Max discovered that there were several psychic mediums advertising in the local
Yellow Pages
. However, none of them was called Deanna Hastings or even Deanna with a different last name to indicate that she’d got married. Max turned to the
White Pages
and found a fair number of people with the last name Hastings. Only one had the initial D, rather than a full first name, but at least they had an address listed. There was no way to tell if the “D” stood for Deanna or not, but Max knew that it was the only chance he had.

Lacking a pen and paper, Max tore a small section from the phone book containing the address details and headed off on the bus. He changed routes three times, deeming it wise to be cautious after everything that had happened, just in case he was being followed.

The house belonging to the mysterious D Hastings was located in an older part of the city, complete with tall, mature trees and narrow, picturesque streets. The house was virtually hidden behind a six-foot hedge, through which the sole access was a high solid wood gate. A black convertible PT Cruiser was parked on the street outside.

Max gently pushed the gate open, cautiously approached the house and pressed the doorbell. While he waited for someone to answer, Max wondered if he was doing the right thing. He knew very little about Deanna Hastings, except that she’d helped locate David Dexter’s body years earlier. Max was very reluctant to explain his dream to anyone or express exactly what he thought was going on. However, he felt that if anyone could help him, it would be someone who claimed to talk to the dead. Max heard footsteps approaching the reverse side of the door, which remained firmly closed.

“Who is it?” said a voice.

“Deanna Hastings?” Max asked.

The door opened just a crack, a sturdy chain preventing it from opening fully. A woman peered out curiously at Max.

“That depends. Who are you?”

“My name is Max. I need your help.”

“You have the wrong address,” said the woman, beginning to close the door.

“I met David Dexter’s ghost,” exclaimed Max, throwing caution to the winds. “He told me he was murdered and I have to help him put things right.”

The door slowly eased open again.

“What did you say?” the woman asked him.

“David Dexter appeared to me on the bus and spoke to me,” said Max. “I’ve had weird images running through my head too, ever since I touched his gravestone in the cemetery.”

“What sort of images?” said the woman, frowning.

“Like pictures from someone else’s life,” Max replied.

The woman looked very thoughtful for a moment, then slowly lifted the chain and opened the door.

“Come in,” she said, softly. “What did you say your name was?”

“Max.”

“Okay, Max,” said the woman. “I
am
Deanna Hastings. Come through here please.”

She led Max along a short hallway, at the end of which a dark wooden staircase wound up to the second level of the house. Max followed Deanna into the sitting room, in which a colourful Turkish rug depicting swirling patterns covered the majority of the hardwood floor. Just inside the doorway stood a tall, antique grandfather clock, which ticked so softly that at first Max wondered if it was even working. Two of the sitting room walls were filled with framed pictures of family members, landscapes, and overseas destinations, where Max assumed Deanna had traveled to on vacation. The other walls contained bookcases crammed with hundreds of books. A wide window overlooked the rear of the house, where the garden was filled with the same type of mature trees that Max had seen on the street outside.

Deanna walked over to the coffee table, which was flanked by two high-backed easy chairs and a small couch. She gestured for Max to sit on one side of the table, then settled into the chair opposite him. Max waited patiently while Deanna briefly ran her slender fingers though her shoulder-length hair, then her deep brown eyes scrutinized him with an intense stare. Deanna looked to be around forty and Max thought at first that he might have met her before. He then realized that she reminded him of his mother. He also had the uncanny feeling that Deanna Hastings somehow knew that.

“So why have you come to see me, Max?” she asked, with a smile.

“I know you were the one who helped the police locate David Dexter’s body,” Max replied.

“That was years ago,” said Deanna, casually. “Why are you so interested?”

Max took a deep breath and explained everything that had happened after he’d first met John Carrington, including the detective’s death, the trip to Carrington’s office, the intriguing collection of documents, newspaper clippings, magazine articles and photographs, Vanessa Dexter’s death, his interrogation at the police station and, of course, his encounters with David. Deanna listened in silence and appeared completely unfazed by Max’s account of his conversations with a ghost. When Max had finished, she stood up and walked over to the window.

“Did anyone see you come here?” she asked, closing the drapes.

“I don’t think so,” said Max. “Why?”

She rejoined Max at the coffee table and sat down.

“Like it or not,” Deanna replied, “you were seen with two people who just died under mysterious circumstances. It could be you next. And they already hauled you into the police station. Can you describe the man who interviewed you, the one you said you thought had been watching you behind the mirror?”

“He was tall and thin,” replied Max, “with blonde hair. He said his name was Kane.”

Deanna shuddered.

“Do you know this guy?” Max asked her.

“These people don’t fool around,” Deanna murmured, gesturing over at the magazine rack beside the couch. “I did see the story about John Carrington in the paper, but hoped it was just some old man dying of natural causes. I thought it was all over.”

“What’s all over?” said Max, shaking his head.

“You’re right,” Deanna began, “I did help the police locate the body. Afterwards, I desperately wanted to lay low and in the end I succeeded. I only see people by appointment now and they usually find out about me by word of mouth. Do you know exactly what it is that I do, Max?”

“A little,” said Max with a shrug.

“Psychics are a rare breed,” Deanna said. “We really don’t have any choice about what we are, only in how we decide to use our gift. How old are you, Max?”

“I’m fourteen.”

“I was about your age when I discovered for sure what I was,” Deanna explained. “I’d sometimes had odd, often impossible, experiences for most of my life up to that point, but I hadn’t really thought that deeply about them. I was too busy being a child. Then one day, when I was waiting for a bus on my way home from school, an old woman dressed in old-fashioned clothes sat down on the opposite end of the bench and smiled at me. She seemed strangely familiar, although I was certain we’d never met before. Then

she spoke to me and knew my name. She asked me not to be afraid and told me that I had a special gift. She assured me that she and many others were watching over me and would always be there to guide me. When I asked her who she was, she smiled again. I’ll never forget that wonderful smile.”

“So who was she?” asked Max, intrigued.

“She told me that she was my great-grand-mother,” Deanna explained, “and she reached out and touched my hand. Just then, I heard someone shout my name and turned my head to see my friend Nicole approaching the bus stop. When I looked away again, the old woman had vanished. I asked Nicole if she’d seen where the woman had gone, but Nicole simply looked confused. She told me that she hadn’t seen anyone and that I’d been sitting alone, looking as if I was talking to myself. Nicole was quite concerned about me, but I told her not to worry and made an excuse about being very tired or something. However, I cried myself to sleep that night. I wasn’t scared. In fact, I was remarkably at ease with what I’d learned. It finally made sense of all the strange experiences that been with me since my early childhood. Although I knew that I wasn’t the only one possessing such a wonderful gift, I was always careful to hide it from my parents, who I was certain would never understand. When I was older, however, I discovered that some unscrupulous people had less than noble intentions for someone with my kind of talent.”

“What sort of people?” said Max, although he suspected that he already knew the answer.

“Twenty years ago,” Deanna continued, “I was a young university student. I was something of a wild child back then. I cut my hair really short and dyed it green, just before my nineteenth birthday. At college, I used to do the occasional psychic reading for my friends. My readings were just for fun, but they came to the attention of people involved in secret experiments on individuals displaying paranormal abilities. One evening on my way home, I was kidnapped. Tests were performed on me, to determine the level of my psychic capability. The scientists wanted to use people like me for military purposes. Doctor Aleksandar Kovac came here from Yugoslavia in the early nineties. Officially, he worked at the university, but was really working on projects for the military.”

She paused for a moment.

“Are you okay, Max? You look as white as a sheet.”

“In my visions of a laboratory,” Max told her, composing himself, “I saw a girl with green hair. That was you, wasn’t it? But how could I have such a memory?”