Celeste Files: Unlocked (11 page)

No. Sandra’s daughter’s eyes.

She was in the secret daughter’s body. Which meant…oh, God…Tracy Saunders was dead. She had to be. The dead reached out to her, not the living.

If she was right, this moment, this vision might be her only chance to help give both this woman and Sandra justice. Knowing it might be her chance to find out the truth, she cleared her mind and sought to connect with the woman’s thoughts. Although the tunnel vision continued to make her stomach sick, the pounding in her head slowly abated. The throbbing in her temples, the sensation of having her ears stuffed with cotton lessened and was replaced by quiet whispers. She opened her mind and heart to the woman who had invited Celeste into her body. The whispers grew louder, stronger, more distinct until—

Maybe I should have worn something else.

The woman’s inner thoughts were crystal clear as Celeste looked through Tracy’s eyes and stared at the mirror.

Something less subtle and sexier. Get a grip. Don’t mistake friendly for flirty. Tracy eyed her reflection one last time, adjusted the charcoal-gray cowl neck sweater, before smoothing her hands over the black leggings she knew accentuated her rear. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned away from her reflection, then opened the door.

“Hi,” Tracy said, smiling. Oh, wow. Talk about gorgeous. Tracy stared at her new student hoping to God she was right and she hadn’t mistaken friendly for flirty. It had been too long since she’d been in a relationship, and she’d missed dating, kissing…making love. “Are you ready for your first piano lesson?”

The pounding in Celeste’s head returned, along with fear. The figure in the doorway was nothing but a shadowy blur, similar to what she’d witnessed during her vision at Maxine’s, and she didn’t understand why. Why couldn’t she see what Tracy could? When she’d been with Sandra, she’d been able to make out what she had assumed was the woman’s mother. Everything in that vision had been pure and the surroundings vibrant. Then again, she hadn’t been able to see who had been in the room with Sandra when she’d been murdered.

“I’m ready,” the figure said, its voice echoing over itself to the point Celeste couldn’t tell whether a man or woman spoke. “Learning to play the piano is on my bucket list.”

“Well, I’ll have you playing
Mary Had a Little Lamb
by the time we’re finished today,” Tracy said, leading her student toward the piano.

The figure chuckled, and Celeste wished Tracy would turn around and look at it again. There had been something malevolent in the sound that had her queasy stomach twisting with unease.

“I don’t plan to get to the level where I’m playing Beethoven, but that’s a start.” The black figure, moved alongside Tracy. “I love your home. What year was it built?”

“Thank you. It was built in 1910. I’ve been slowly renovating it over the years, trying to bring it back to what it once was.” Tracy looked around her living room and Celeste could feel the woman’s pride. For a split second, she saw the room as it had been when Tracy had first bought the house—neglected, ugly floral wallpaper and paint peeling, damaged floors, dated light fixtures. “It’s a work in progress,” Tracy continued, snapping the image away from Celeste. “Come, sit on the bench.”

The figure disintegrated, then redeveloped and hovered near the bench. Alarmed and scared for Tracy, Celeste tried desperately to keep her mind clear. But she couldn’t shake the memory of the frightening, black coagulating mass she’d seen earlier today at Maxine’s, the sheer wickedness it had exuded, or how similar it was to this figure.

Tracy sat on the bench and gave the lacquered wood a pat. “I promise the keys won’t bite. Let’s get started with the basics.”

Damn it. Celeste needed Tracy to look at the figure. She wasn’t comfortable having it out of her line of sight. If only she could communicate with the woman. Warn her, let her know that the person she’d invited into her home wasn’t there for piano lessons. A bitter sense of impotence squeezed her chest. In the past, the dead had used her body to tell their stories. What Celeste was experiencing right now was likely the final moments of Tracy’s life. She couldn’t help the woman now, but if Tracy would turn her head and continue to look or even speak to the figure, Celeste might be able to find a way to identify the woman’s killer.

Or maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was still soaking in her tub and—

“Yes, let’s get to the basics.” The figure’s words continued to echo in a way that added to her nausea, but she swore the voice was female. Which didn’t make sense, since Tracy had been thinking about flirting and had been concerned with what she wore. “You intrigue me. Are you from the area?” the figure asked.

Celeste sensed Tracy’s excitement. The woman looked to the black figure. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

The figure’s black arm evaporated, then redeveloped in a burst of smoke and touched a picture sitting on the small table near the piano. “Is this your family?”

“Yes,” Tracy said, her excitement growing. Her adult students never made small talk. They were usually all business. Maybe she’d been right and hadn’t mistaken flirty for friendly. At least she hoped. It had been a long time since she’d had such an attraction to a person and she would love to have the chance to see if they could take their relationship beyond student-teacher. “Those are my parents and two older brothers.” She looked at the photo, her chest filling with pride. Her mom and dad were wonderful people, and had chosen her. “I’m the baby in the family.”

“You don’t favor any of them. Who did you get your beautiful brown eyes from?”

“My mother.”

“But your mother has blue eyes.”

Tracy hadn’t told a soul that she’d been adopted. She hadn’t even told her parents she knew the truth. Since they were both in their late seventies and their health wasn’t the best, and because they’d kept her adoption secret from her, she hadn’t wanted to upset them. For whatever reason, she felt a strange connection to her student, along with the urge to be honest. “I was adopted.”

The figure’s mass changed. It swelled and rippled, became so incredibly black it sucked the color from the room, turning her surroundings a hazy gray. “Adopted? Not to pry, but do you know your real mother?”

Despite the heavy foreboding weighing on Celeste, Tracy’s spirit grew warm. Sandra’s image filled the woman’s mind, giving Celeste a glimpse of mother and daughter embracing.

“Yes,” Tracy said. “She’s a wonderful woman. She was too young when she gave birth to me and did me a huge favor by giving me up for adoption. My real mom ended up having a successful career, marrying and having two other kids. But if she’d kept me, I don’t know if that would’ve happened. And I couldn’t imagine being raised by anyone but my mom and dad.” She shook her head, which made Celeste dizzy. “I’ll admit, she shocked the hell out of me when she first called. But, I’m so glad I was willing to meet with her. She’s a great lady.” Tracy sighed, the memory of Sandra still lingering in her mind. “Anyway, enough about me. What about you? Do you have a big family?”

The figure oozed forward, the hatred emanating from it suffocating Celeste as it hovered near Tracy. “What’s your real mother’s name?”

Celeste sensed a sudden shift in Tracy. Felt her unease and distrust. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious. I like you. I want to know about you. Maybe I misinterpreted our phone conversation, but I thought you might like me, too.”

Tracy relaxed, and her earlier excitement at the prospect of a possible relationship returned. “Her name is Sandra.”

Black wisps of smoke reached out and touched Tracy’s face. “Sandra,” it repeated, its voice deadened, hollow. “She’s a fucking whore.”

Tracy gasped and drew back. The figure grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair and dragged her from the bench.

Pain radiated from Celeste’s scalp. Terror filled her to the depths of her soul. She didn’t have time to consider why she was suddenly experiencing Tracy’s physical pain, as the figure dragged Tracy’s body off the bench.

Tracy kicked out and her leg connected with the bench, which toppled over and smashed into the piano. The figure let go of Tracy’s hair, then quickly produced a gun. “Get up.”

Tracy shook her head. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’d tell you to ask Sandra, but she’s as good as dead. Now get up.”

“You killed her?” The deep sadness settling on Tracy made Celeste ache, especially when Tracy’s quick memories of her real mother ran through her mind. The apprehension of meeting Sandra, then later the love and friendship the two women had developed.

“Not yet.” The figure waved the gun. “She should have never looked for you. The slut should have left the past buried. She should have continued to pretend you never existed.” The figure kicked her in the stomach, causing Tracy to double over and Celeste to catch her breath. Then it raised the butt of the gun, and smashed it against Tracy’s head.

Celeste was plunged into darkness. She could no longer hear Tracy’s whispered thoughts, and wished she could wake the woman up and tell her to fight. Trapped in Tracy’s body, afraid that she might not find a way out and back to her own reality, she recalled Maxine’s words.

Remember, what you’re seeing isn’t real. It’s a plane of the past, present or future… Don’t let the vision control you. It’s in your head.

She wanted to know what happened to Tracy, but was worried she wouldn’t be able to escape the woman’s body before it was too late. Celeste also remembered how she’d used thoughts of John to help ground her earlier today. As she summoned his image—the warmth and love she knew she could count on from him—water began to surround her legs again and slowly rose.

Celeste relaxed in the darkness, gave the vision time to disappear and her own reality to return. After a few moments passed and the water lapped against her chin, she slowly opened her eyes. Then panicked when she looked at the naked body that didn’t belong to her, and at the claw foot bathtub that was the total opposite to Celeste’s modern garden tub.

“You never should have been born,” the figure yelled.

Tracy’s sluggish mind met with Celeste’s. The woman’s fear tore her in two as black hands pressed down on Tracy’s face, then shoved her under the water, smacking her head against porcelain. The water distorted the ever-changing unnatural and monstrous figure. Ignoring the way the cold water stung her eyes, Tracy gripped at the hands now pressing against her shoulders and holding her under the surface. She twisted her body. Her foot connected with the faucet, sending a sharp pain up her leg. The figure moved over her, pushed its knee against her stomach and bore down.

Completely submerged and unable to escape, Tracy’s panic and terror filled Celeste’s mind, along with confusion. The woman didn’t understand why this was happening to her and prayed to God that she could be strong enough to fight her attacker. But the need to breathe overwhelmed her, along with deep sorrow. There were so many things in life she had yet to do. She had yet to know true love. She’d never take the dream trip to Europe she’d been saving for, or finish restoring her house. She’d only just discovered her real mother and still had many questions to ask her. Her parents and brothers…she loved them so damned much. They’d chosen her. They’d brought her into their family and loved her as one of their own and without condition. How would they handle her murder? Who would find her? Would her killer go free? Would Sandra suffer the same fate?

Exhausted from fighting, head foggy from lack of oxygen, yet terrified of dying, Tracy rallied. She shoved at the body pinning her against the tub, but couldn’t rid herself of the weight. As Tracy’s resolve slipped, Celeste willed the woman to not breathe in, and to continue to fight. But the burn in the woman’s lungs made her own chest ache and her head pound. The urge to release the breath she’d been holding and gasp for the air she desperately needed was so damned strong, she couldn’t blame Tracy for wanting to give up and let the water take her.

Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe.

The words ran through Tracy’s mind and into Celeste’s, until water began to fill Tracy’s nostrils and drip down her throat. She gagged. Her lips parted. Water entered her mouth. She spat it out, then instinctively gasped, dragging the bathwater into her lungs. She’d expected pain, but when there was none Tracy relaxed and breathed in more water. Her body stilled. A sense of warmth and comfort overcame her. She looked past the black figure above her. A beautiful yet strange bright light wrapped itself around her. An exquisite melody filled her soul with extraordinary peace. Over the music she heard whispers and sensed the presence of others. They suddenly surrounded her and she’d never felt more loved in her life. This was a beautiful place. There was no fear. No pain. And she never wanted to leave. She never wanted—

“Celeste,” John yelled, raw terror in his voice.

John. Torn between her love for him and Olivia, Celeste hovered at the fringes of the light. There was so much joy and love here. The euphoria filling Tracy’s spirit was unlike anything Celeste had never experienced. She craved what Tracy now had and wanted it, too. She wanted to share it with John and Olivia, with everyone she loved.