Message of murder trilog.., p.1
Message of Murder Trilogy Complete Collection, page 1
Message in the Bones
Message of Murder Trilogy Book 1
Dawn Merriman
Description: Freak is a nasty word, but many people in this small town have no trouble calling me a freak, or worse. The night my father was murdered and I was left for dead, I awoke with the ability to “sense” things. Touching certain items often gives me visions, sometimes horrifying ones. Most people here are afraid of that kind of thing - afraid of me.
Especially my brother, Dustin. As head detective of the River Bend police department, he’d rather pretend I don’t exist than believe in my gift. When he finds the long-buried bones of a murder victim, his only hope for answers is to ask me for help. He's not happy about it.
I normally hide my abilities from people, but the mysterious skeleton had a story that needed to be told. When I touched the bones, I saw what happened to her, lived through her murder. That vision changed me - changed everything.
But no one wants to believe what I saw. Instead of a helpful hero, I become even more of an outcast in my small town. The only person who truly believes is the one man who knows the truth of my visions - the killer – and he’s desperate to keep his secrets buried.
Now he hunts a new prey – me. I don’t need psychic powers to know he’s right behind me – closing in – about to strike.
Message of Murder Trilogy in this collection.
Book 1, Message in the Bones
Book 2, Message in the Fire
Book 3, Message in the Grave
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Chapter 1
GABBY
Freak is a nasty word. It burns like a slap.
A group of teenagers sit behind me at the coffee shop tucked inside the superstore.
“Isn’t that the psychic freak?” one of them asks the others.
My quiet evening of people-watching with a mocha latte ruined, I turn on the teenagers.
“Didn’t your parents teach you better manners?” I demand from my seat at the next table.
The two males and a young girl with a nose ring stare in shock that I confronted them. The boys look startled, the young woman has the good grace to look ashamed.
“We’re sorry,” she says, fidgeting with her hair. “Tell her you’re sorry,” she says to her companions.
They mumble something that can loosely be described as an apology.
I turn back to my latte, my cheeks flaming in embarrassment.
They whisper together, thinking I can’t hear them.
“Ask her,” one boy urges the other.
“Leave her alone,” the girl scolds.
I know what’s coming next. The question everyone asks.
I beat them to the punch.
“I don’t know if you will win the lottery,” I say loudly.
The girl giggles.
Choosing people-watching from the coffee shop as a fun activity says more about me than it does about River Bend, Indiana, but there isn’t too much to do here. We do have an antique covered bridge and an amazing park nestled along a bend of the St. Joe River. I often run at the park, but a rainstorm took the park off my list of options for tonight.
The rain must have driven the kids inside as well. At least they have friends to hang out with.
My latte and a book keep me company.
A very young boy wanders by the half-wall separating the coffee shop from the rest of the store.
I forget the teenagers and focus on the child.
His hair is the improbable shade of blond only the very young are blessed with and women spend hundreds of dollars trying to reproduce. His chubby face looks curiously around him, not scared yet, but working towards it. The closer I get to thirty, the more I enjoy watching children, and this little guy radiates cuteness.
Instinctively, I look for his mother, but he walks alone. He wanders past the half-wall separating the coffee shop from the store then totters towards the produce section and its bright colors.
The delicate cross tattoo on my left inner forearm begins to tingle, telling me to act. Rubbing it through the fabric of my jean jacket doesn’t make the tingle stop. I down the last of my coffee and leave the teenagers twittering behind me.
I find the little boy near a display of dried fruit. Scanning the produce section, I still don’t see a mother looking for a lost child. The fact annoys me. I kneel close to the little boy. We are alone between the dried fruit display and the organic tomatoes.
“Hi there, are you lost?”
He turns his angelic face to me, cocks his head sideways.
“Don’t think so,” his tiny voice as cute as his face.
“Where’s your mommy?”
“Around.” He points to a package of dried apricots. “Can I have this candy?”
“That’s not candy, hunny.”
Looking around one more time, I can’t find a frantic parent.
I slip the glove off my left hand, the only hand that actually needs one.
I rarely make a contact on purpose, but the insistent tingle of my tattoo forces me to make an exception.
The boy puts his chubby palm on mine. I close my eyes and open my mind.
Laughing, running, a shaggy dog, the sweet taste of candy, snuggling with mommy.
So far nothing helpful, just fuzzy impressions of a young boy’s mind. I focus harder on mommy.
Tall, blonde, safe, smells like vanilla.
“What was mommy doing when you last saw her?” I ask the boy.
“Talking,” he answers simply. I do what I can with that, try to see what he saw.
Tall blond, wearing a red jacket. Talking to another woman, not paying attention to the boy. Boxes of cereal behind her.
“Let’s go find mommy, ok?” I slip the glove back on and take his chubby hand in mine, ignoring the pang of longing stirring inside me.
The blonde mother talks to another woman in the cereal aisle, completely unaware her son had run off.
He pulls away and runs to his mom. “Mommy!”
I recognize the woman and sigh. Lacey Aniston. She’s on the evening news now, but I knew her before the nose job. She never needed one. Lacey was the prettiest girl in high school and made sure you knew it.
I approach slowly, although I’d rather run away. Lacey finally notices me and nearly breaks out laughing. “Hey look,” she says to her companion. “It’s Gabby McAllister,” she makes my name sound like a bad word. I know the other woman, too. Ashley and Lacey were tight friends back in school.
I force my feet to walk closer to them.
“I found him in the produce section,” I say by way of explanation.
“Really? Bryce did you wander off again?” Lacey says sweetly to the boy, unconcerned.
“Hi, Gabby,” Ashley says, politely. “How you doing?”
I shrug, not trusting her.
Ashley pushes on, “How’s your mom?”
“She’s doing as well as can be expected,” I answer vaguely.
“I’ve thought about you guys a lot over the years.” Ashley glances at Lacey, then leans closer and lowers her voice, “I always wanted to tell you how sorry-.”
“Stop any fires lately?” Lacey interrupts with the old joke, laughing openly at me. Ashley looks away uncomfortable.
“Well, now you have your son back.” I motion to Bryce and shove my gloved hands deep into my jacket pockets. Lacey doesn’t say thank you. I walk away, calling “You’re welcome,” over my shoulder.
“Nice gloves, Gabby,” Lacey calls after me. Her laughter echoes off the cereal boxes as I leave.
I resist the urge to run down the aisle.
Once in the parking lot, I do run, but blame it on the rain. The worst of the thunderstorm has passed, but water pours down the windows of my beat up Dodge Charger, blocking me from the world.
I scream in frustration.
The fire incident still stings after ten years. In a town where little ever happens, mistakes like that stick with you.
Except it wasn’t a mistake. No one remembers that part.
I was sixteen at the time. Mom and Dad had been gone for over a year by then. My older brother, Dustin and I lived with Grandma Dot, trying our best to pretend our life was okay. Dustin adjusted well to our situation. A star athlete on the basketball team and popular in school, he transitioned with ease.
I struggled. My world shattered at fifteen, a delicate age. I started feeling things I couldn’t explain with my left hand. Things I shouldn’t know.
I’d feared telling Grandma Dot, but she supported me and understood. She had her own version of my ability, and said I got it from her. Our shared secret skill drew us closer.
Dustin hated the whole concept of psychic ability. I tried talking to him about it once and his open disgust taught me to keep quiet.
The night of the basketball game I had no choice.
I sat with Grandma Dot in the stands, feeling self-conscious. The other kids were having fun together, and I only had Grandma to sit with. Dustin captained the team. I enjoyed watching him and supporting him, but had trouble getting into the game.
I got restless and went for a walk. Roaming the halls of the school alone, I trailed my left hand along the wall. Killing time until the game ended and we could leave.
My hand slid along the brick wall, then across the meta
The jolt terrified me.
Fire, smoke, heat, fear, danger, run, run, fire, fire!
I panicked. I admit that. I over-reacted. I admit that too.
But real fear pounded me.
“Fire!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the brick walls. A few people outside the gym looked at me curiously. “Fire! Run!” They looked around, no smoke, no flames. One man approached me to help, but I shot past him.
I slammed through the double doors leading to the gym full of people watching the game. Both sets of bleachers full of cheering people, the players passing and shooting the ball, and the cheerleaders jumping through their routines on the sidelines were all in danger.
“Fire!” I screamed in terror. I ran right into the court, instinctively going to Dustin. “Everyone get out, the building’s on fire!”
The crowd went silent. The cheerleaders stopped cheering. The players lost track of the ball and it bounced to the other end of the court. Every eye focused on me, except Dustin. He kept his back turned, too ashamed to look. No one ran to safety.
“I said the building’s on fire. Everyone has to get out!” I screamed at the bleachers.
A few people stirred and headed for the doors, not willing to take the chance. Once they started out, a few more followed in a slow stream.
The coach stormed across the court at me. “What are you talking about? What fire? The alarms aren’t going off. We’re in the middle of a game here.” Angry spittle flew from his mouth onto my face.
“The utility room’s on fire. Why won’t anyone believe me?” I looked around in confusion, wanting Dustin. He kept his back to me, and hurried to the far end of the court to retrieve the basketball.
A strong, wiry arm wrapped around my waist, Grandma Dot. “Gabriella, what’s going on?”
“I touched the utility room door. I saw fire.” Grandma Dot stiffened next to me, understanding.
“Show me.” She led me off the court.
Laughter rolled through the room. Countless angry mouths and uncaring eyes ignored the danger and laughed at me, the new joke of the town.
Grandma Dot led me away. I looked over my shoulder for my brother. Dustin pretended he didn’t know me. His betrayal stung more than the laughter from the crowd.
People pushed past me to return to the game, giving me harsh looks.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” more than a few of them grumbled at me.
“How dare you scare us like that?” one woman accused.
Grandma Dot flashed her eyes at the woman and she scurried away.
A man in a suit strode over with authority, his shoes clipping the floor in anger.
“It’s illegal to yell fire in a crowd for no reason,” he barked at me. “Not a funny prank, young lady.”
“Don’t you threaten my granddaughter,” Grandma Dot snapped at the man. “If Gabby says there’s a fire, then there is a fire.”
The man started to say something then shut his mouth.
“Open this door, and let’s see,” Grandma challenged.
The man hesitated. “I’ll get the keys.” His shoes clipped away.
Grandma Dot leaned close to my ear. “You better be right or we’re in trouble.”
“I sensed fire.”
Grandma Dot touched the door herself and closed her eyes. Her powers aren’t as strong as mine, and she shook her head.
The man came back with the keys and slid one into the metal lock. He looked at me in warning before he opened it. “Last chance to tell the truth.”
“Open it,” I said.
He turned the key and pulled the heavy metal door.
Chapter 2
GABBY
I held my breath as the key turned in the lock, afraid of what we’d find behind the door.
The gray metal panel swung open.
The sick smell of burning plastic poured over us. Smoke pooled at the ceiling.
The administrator cursed and rushed into the utility room. He grabbed a fire extinguisher off the wall and located the small electrical fire in the back corner.
A short blast of the extinguisher and the fire went out.
He joined us outside the door, coughing and waving at the air.
He stared at me with a mixture of amazement and fear. “How did you know?”
I squeezed Grandma Dot’s hand, frightened that I had been right. “I’m glad you put it out. I was scared and no one was listening to me.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Did you start this fire?”
“Of course she didn’t,” Grandma Dot snapped at the man. “How could she? The door was locked.”
The man backed away from me, not wanting to hear how I knew.
The smoke had cleared from the room. He put the extinguisher back and hurried away shaking his head.
“Can we go home now?” I pleaded with Grandma Dot. “There’s no way I’m going back to the game and I’m never coming back to school.”
“It will blow over,” Grandma Dot soothed. “Things always blow over.”
But it didn’t blow over.
Grandma Dot made me go back to school no matter how hard I begged. High school kids are cruel. Dramatically yelling “Fire!” when they saw me in the hall became a running joke.
The rumor spread I had psychically sensed the fire. The town ate that up. I had grown used to the sidelong glances and barely hidden comments behind my back when I lost my parents. Crazy, freak and witch were just new words added to the gossip’s mouths.
Fake was another popular word.
No one mentioned the fire was real, or that I saved countless lives.
Lacey Aniston enjoyed throwing it in my face tonight. Lacey had been a cheerleader at the basketball game and had a front row seat to my screaming on the court.
I scream now in my car.
I turn the key, and the Charger rumbles to life.
I stomp on the gas pedal and head out into the country, hoping a drive through the corn fields will take the edge off my anger.
The Charger and I speed down the wet country roads, music blaring from the battered speakers. I yearn to see something new to go where no one knows me.
The rain stops, and I keep driving.
The roads start to dry, and I keep driving.
Fours towns away, I stop for gas and a sandwich. I sit at a small table in the gas station, munching my tasteless ham and cheese. Strangers come and go. No one even glances at me.
I bask in the anonymity.
It’s a straight shot down the four-lane highway to home. A much quicker path than the winding way I came. Much more traffic, too.
A red Camaro pulls past me. Feeling ornery, I push the gas, hoping to get the Camaro to race.
The Charger rumbles louder, gains speed. I push the pedal harder, slide past the Camaro. It doesn’t take the bait. Letting up on the gas, I slip back in line next to the red car. The middle aged driver ignores me, unimpressed with my antics. He keeps his attention on the road like a responsible driver should.
I’m not in a responsible mood.
I slam the pedal and dart ahead with a little squeal of the tires. The speed intoxicates me. What’s the point in being called crazy if you can’t act crazy once in a while?
Flying down the left lane, I pass a small car, a pick-up truck and a mini van. “Eat my dust!” I yell dramatically and laugh out loud at my childishness. “Whoo-who!”
A sedan rises up on my right. I push the gas even harder, ready to pass it in a flash. Pulling alongside the sedan, I look towards the driver, laughing and enjoying myself.
I don’t see his face. The insignia on his car door grabs my attention instead.
Red and blue lights flick on, their intention clear.
“Crap on a cracker!” I yell at the dash board. Slowing down, I pull over to the gravel shoulder of the highway, fear swimming in my gut.
The cop parks behind me and the officer takes his time reaching my window.
“Please don’t be Dustin. Please don’t be Dustin.” I repeat as I watch the officer approach in my side view mirror. My brother Dustin is head detective with the River Bend police department. Unlikely he’s out doing traffic stops, but on a small force, everyone pitches in.
The officer knocks on my window. I should have rolled it down already. I know the drill well enough. I push the button and the tinted window slides down, revealing crisp blue eyes and neatly cut hair.
