Visions: The Mystical Encounter Series (The Mystical Encounter Series Book 1) by Kimberly Readnour Page A
Authors: Kimberly Readnour
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my purpose for staring at that door, broke through my trance by gently nudging me. As I followed him to the living room, I kept peering back. The uneasiness wouldn’t go away, but I needed to concentrate on our current task as we entered the main room.
It took a whole two seconds to realize that room was as orderly as the kitchen. After quickly scanning his house—the parts readily visible—that seemed to be the consistent theme. Very impersonal. There weren’t any knickknacks or pictures displayed. If I didn’t know differently, I’d say nobody lived there. That impersonal void of a home put me in mind of a staged house—an empty house for sale that had been planted with furniture, waiting for the next unsuspecting buyer. But this wasn’t a staged home. No, someone lived here, but there wasn’t any proof. It had a strong sense of sterility about it, a sharp coldness which made us afraid to touch anything in fear of contaminating it.
I fleetingly wondered if we should have removed our shoes—if any drop of dirt, or tracking of footprints showed, our cover would be blown—but checking behind us, we didn’t appear to be leaving any trail. We lucked out because the carpet was older Berber, which didn’t show footprints. After a brief inspection of the room, there wasn’t anything significant. Moving on into his bedroom, we bypassed the guest bedroom. Barry went over to inspect it, but the room was completely empty. I guess there wasn’t a need for furniture since he apparently never had guests. Strange, you’d think he’d at least have a desk.
“Look for a small box or something similar,” I said, entering his bedroom. “Sometimes the killer will keep items from their victims as a souvenir, or something that will glorify them like a newspaper article. And make sure you place everything back the way you found it. He’s very detail–orientated, and will know at once if someone’s been in here.”
Upon opening his closet, unsurprisingly his shirts and pants lined up perfectly. If the kitchen was any indicator, I half expected it. What did surprise me was the shirts and pants being the same color—tan and brown, respectively . How boring is this guy’s life? A little flabbergasted, Barry came up beside me, peeking in.
“This guy has a serious compulsive disorder,” he said shaking his head.
“Obsessive compulsive disorder isn’t a crime, but this man seems strange. Hmm. Since you’re taller, take the upper shelf, while I take the lower half,” I directed.
After thoroughly searching through his closet, we didn’t find anything. After checking underneath the bed, and all through the dresser drawers, we still came up short. Frustration set in rather quickly, and if I didn’t clear my mind, I’d make a mistake. I turned, walking over to the back wall. With my back against it, I placed my hands to the side of my head as I slid down into a crouch position. Think…I need to think. What am I missing? He was involved, I could sense it, but I was overlooking something.
Unmistakably irritated by that point, I sat there knowing there wasn’t any other choice but to go down to the basement. Evidence or not, I had to find out if he was Johnny’s abductor. I dreaded that vision, but to be positively sure Mr. Barton’s guilty, I had no other choice.
Actually, I was surprised by my lack of visions thus far. Being short on time, I’d been careful on what I touched, but I would’ve thought something would’ve happened by now. He must not be attached to anything in that house.
Of course it could be that Mr. Barton’s innocent, and there was nothing for me to see. We may be breaking into his home for no reason—the thought had crossed my mind. I’d feel bad if that was the case, but I didn’t believe he was innocent. There weren’t any warm, cozy feelings inside that house. Nothing but evil. When I viewed that basement door, I swear it was present.
The
It took a whole two seconds to realize that room was as orderly as the kitchen. After quickly scanning his house—the parts readily visible—that seemed to be the consistent theme. Very impersonal. There weren’t any knickknacks or pictures displayed. If I didn’t know differently, I’d say nobody lived there. That impersonal void of a home put me in mind of a staged house—an empty house for sale that had been planted with furniture, waiting for the next unsuspecting buyer. But this wasn’t a staged home. No, someone lived here, but there wasn’t any proof. It had a strong sense of sterility about it, a sharp coldness which made us afraid to touch anything in fear of contaminating it.
I fleetingly wondered if we should have removed our shoes—if any drop of dirt, or tracking of footprints showed, our cover would be blown—but checking behind us, we didn’t appear to be leaving any trail. We lucked out because the carpet was older Berber, which didn’t show footprints. After a brief inspection of the room, there wasn’t anything significant. Moving on into his bedroom, we bypassed the guest bedroom. Barry went over to inspect it, but the room was completely empty. I guess there wasn’t a need for furniture since he apparently never had guests. Strange, you’d think he’d at least have a desk.
“Look for a small box or something similar,” I said, entering his bedroom. “Sometimes the killer will keep items from their victims as a souvenir, or something that will glorify them like a newspaper article. And make sure you place everything back the way you found it. He’s very detail–orientated, and will know at once if someone’s been in here.”
Upon opening his closet, unsurprisingly his shirts and pants lined up perfectly. If the kitchen was any indicator, I half expected it. What did surprise me was the shirts and pants being the same color—tan and brown, respectively . How boring is this guy’s life? A little flabbergasted, Barry came up beside me, peeking in.
“This guy has a serious compulsive disorder,” he said shaking his head.
“Obsessive compulsive disorder isn’t a crime, but this man seems strange. Hmm. Since you’re taller, take the upper shelf, while I take the lower half,” I directed.
After thoroughly searching through his closet, we didn’t find anything. After checking underneath the bed, and all through the dresser drawers, we still came up short. Frustration set in rather quickly, and if I didn’t clear my mind, I’d make a mistake. I turned, walking over to the back wall. With my back against it, I placed my hands to the side of my head as I slid down into a crouch position. Think…I need to think. What am I missing? He was involved, I could sense it, but I was overlooking something.
Unmistakably irritated by that point, I sat there knowing there wasn’t any other choice but to go down to the basement. Evidence or not, I had to find out if he was Johnny’s abductor. I dreaded that vision, but to be positively sure Mr. Barton’s guilty, I had no other choice.
Actually, I was surprised by my lack of visions thus far. Being short on time, I’d been careful on what I touched, but I would’ve thought something would’ve happened by now. He must not be attached to anything in that house.
Of course it could be that Mr. Barton’s innocent, and there was nothing for me to see. We may be breaking into his home for no reason—the thought had crossed my mind. I’d feel bad if that was the case, but I didn’t believe he was innocent. There weren’t any warm, cozy feelings inside that house. Nothing but evil. When I viewed that basement door, I swear it was present.
The
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