The Lightning's Kiss: Wylie Westerhouse Book 3 Read online

  “I love you, Mom,” Duncan said.

  Mom put her hand to her mouth.

  “I love you, too, Baby.”

  “Maybe we can go visit the boys in Branson for Christmas, Patty,” Dad said.

  “What?” my mother said. “Well, I…are you serious Johnny?”

  “Sure. Why not? Jessie, you, and I could fly down for a few days—or we could drive. It would be fun. I’m sure Branson does up a mighty-fine Country Christmas.”

  “And you could meet everybody—I think that would be an excellent idea!” I said.

  “But, Christmas is the most important time of the year for my business, Johnny,” Mom said. “It can make or break us.”

  “I’ll pay for everything, Mom,” I said. “What can you do here that you can’t do over the phone or on a computer?”

  “A grown-up would just say ‘yes’ right now, Patty,” Jessie said.

  “Wylie, we talked about you taking advantage of your wealthy friends,” Mom said. “You’re not—”

  “I came into some money on my own, thank you very much,” I said.

  “What did you do?” Mom asked.

  I sighed.

  “Is your computer still in the bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, come and look.”

  The others followed me. I typed in the address for SkylerKwyK.com and stood aside. Skyler’s “News” page featured a picture of Skyler and me together.

  “Oh, my word!” Mom said. “Wylie? This girl is huge!”

  “I assume you mean that she’s a big star—because she’s the perfect size. In fact, almost everything about her is perfect.”

  “But this isn’t—this isn’t your new girlfriend, right?” Dad asked.

  “No, no. Holly is from Scotland. Her family used to live in the castle that my friend moved to Branson.”

  “Oh, my!” Mom said. She covered her mouth.

  “Holly’s not…she’s a live girl, right?”

  I laughed.

  “Yes! Yes, she’s a real, live girl!”

  “It’s not funny, Wylie,” Mom said. “How are we supposed to keep up with all of this?”

  “This is fantastic, son!” Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Will you even be in Branson for Christmas?”

  “Yeah, we’re not going to start recording or rehearsing for the tour until after New Year's. It would be great to have you visit.”

  Mom shook her head slowly.

  “Spend Christmas—with a five-hundred-year-old family!”

  “I’m in,” Jessie said. “I’m going whether you go or not, Patty.”

  “I’m certainly not going to miss the chance to spend Christmas with both of my boys!”

  Mom hugged me and then she hugged Duncan.

  “How long…how long will you stay, Duncan?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know, Mom. We were given the chance to cross over already, but we all decided to stay.”

  “All of the…ghosts decided to stay here?” Mom said. “Why?”

  “The McIntyres stayed because of Holly,” Duncan said.

  “Holly lost her parents and then her uncle died in her arms seven months later,” I said. “Her family home left the country right after that. The McIntyres couldn’t bear to leave her. She’s like a member of their family.”

  “They sound like wonderful people,” Dad said. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

  Mom touched my cheek.

  “Neither can I.”

  I called Quentin that night.

  “Duncan and I will be home tomorrow night.”

  “That’s great! I’m going to throw a little party Saturday night—to celebrate the Homecoming.”

  “That’s awesome. How are the McFaddens doing?”

  “I guess the time change is kicking in. Or the adrenaline has kicked out. Or maybe both,” Q said. “They’re all sleeping a lot.”

  “That’s good news. I was afraid they would have nightmares.”

  “I think these people are a little tougher than that,” Q said.

  “They didn’t used to be—not Mrs. McFadden, anyway.”

  “Those days are long gone, I think.”

  “You sound pretty optimistic,” I said. “Is there any particular reason?”

  “Yeah, well, you might say that. Last night, Arabella was in the middle of another tirade against Bruiser. Gwendoline got right up in her face. She told her that she was acting like a—,”

  Q laughed.

  “I can’t even repeat what she told her! But it sure shut Arabella up, I can tell you that much.”

  Quentin must have pulled the phone away from his mouth. I heard him yell.

  “Okay! I’m coming! Keep your shirts on!”

  “I’ll let you go, Wylie. I bought a pool table. They just got it set up this afternoon. Right now, it’s Oliver and me against Bruiser and Dougie Day.”

  I laughed.

  “Who’s winning?”

  “One game apiece, so far. Dougie ran the table once, and so far, Bruiser has broken two cue sticks over his knee.”

  “That’s classic. Is Holly asleep?”

  “Yep. I fixed her folks up with their own room. We moved Holly’s bed in there because they were all sleeping in the same room anyway.”

  “Well, it sounds like I won’t have to worry about remaining a good boy for the foreseeable future.”

  Q laughed again.

  “Yeah, that’s right! I didn’t think about that.”

  “I did.”

  “You’re young. You have all the time in the world.”

  “Except I’ll be leaving in six weeks.”

  “Yeah, there’s that,” Q said. “Why don’t we just celebrate every day until that happens?”

  “I’m with you, there, Q.”

  “Have a good flight.”

  ‘Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

  Five

  Tara Jamison

  London, England

  Tara and her mother arrived at the office of Adrian Crane: Doctor of Psychiatry. The grounds were immaculate. The entry doors were a combination of iron and antique wood, and worth a fortune. The lobby was an eclectic mixture of antique mahogany and marble. The receptionist could have been a professional model.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Jamison. Hello, Tara,” the receptionist said with a dazzling smile.

  “Good afternoon,” Emily said. She glared at Tara. Tara offered a phony smile and said, “Hello.”

  “The Doctor is running just a wee bit late,” the receptionist said. “He called just moments ago. He spoke at a luncheon at the University and it ran a bit long.”

  “It’s no problem,” Emily said. She looked around the room.

  “Your office is lovely.”

  “Dr. Crane is a man of taste,” the receptionist said.

  Emily winked at her and smiled.

  “I’ll say he is.”

  Emily took a seat near the receptionist’s desk. Tara ignored her mother and sat down as far from her as possible. Emily jumped up in a huff and sat next to Tara.

  “I thought we talked about the importance of this interview!” Emily said from the corner of her mouth.

  “No,” Tara said. “You talked. I only listened.”

  “Doctor Crane is not just another school counselor, Tara,” Emily whispered. “He is one of the most highly regarded psychiatrists in the city.”

  “The Doctor is speaking at a luncheon for the University!” Tara whispered in a mocking voice.

  “Shush!” Emily whispered. “I don’t think you realized how serious this is, Tara.”

  Tara stood up. She roughly smoothed her dress for her mother’s benefit. She crossed the room and pretended to study a wall painting before she sat down again—five seats away from her mother. They ignored each other for the next twenty minutes.

  The receptionist stepped down from her circular perch and held open a door.

  “Doctor Crane will see you now, Tara.”

  Emily picked up her purse and sto
od.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jamison,” the receptionist said. “Tara should go back alone, for now. The Doctor will conference with you after.”

  Tara passed closely in front of Emily. Tara leaned toward her mother’s ear.

  “He has a private entrance—just like the Pope,” she whispered.

  Adrian Crane stood at a counter at the rear of his office. He poured a cup of tea as Tara entered the room. He turned his head slightly as he poured.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Jamison.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  Crane’s glance made him want to give Tara a closer look.

  Tara didn’t care for the way that Crane appraised her—scanning her from head to toe. She also did not like that his next move was to take a container of breath spray from his pocket and squirt it into his mouth.

  “That’s a lovely dress,” Crane said. “Is it new?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well. I’m flattered. Come, let us sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Crane stepped behind his desk.

  “Please have a seat—wherever you like.”

  Crane watched Tara pass by the sofa and sit down in a chair. He sat down and made his first note of the day.

  “Do you know why you are here?”

  “Of course, I do,” Tara said. She did not make eye contact. “This has to do with the accident at the zoo.”

  “Accident—?”

  “I don’t know what else you would call it. Although it seems that some of my classmates are convinced that I had something to do with it. This is nothing new to me. I am always the ‘new girl’ and no one ever trusts me.”

  “I’ve seen the video, Tara.”

  Adrian Crane leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

  “I must say, I understand their concerns.”

  “Fantastic,” Tara said. “If you‘ve already judged me at fault, then why am I here?”

  Crane held up his hands.

  “I did not mean to imply that I have judged you,” Crane smirked. “Believe me; I am in awe of telekinetic powers.”

  “So, I am here in order for you to be in awe. I suppose you expect me to perform for you?”

  “Do you have any idea how few actual telekinetic events have been recorded? Not to mention—a boy weighing over twelve stone!”

  “I don’t remember anything,” Tara said, looking away.

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Crane said. “In the video, you appear to be in a deep trance. Does this happen to you often?”

  ‘Never!” Tara said quickly. She was afraid that she was already being considered dangerous.

  “Oh?” The Doctor said. He stood and walked around the desk.

  “Never? How can you be certain, if you do not recall what happened at the zoo? Tara, do you understand that unconscious telekinetic events can have very serious consequences?”

  “I told you. It’s never happened before.”

  “I’m afraid that I have upset you,” Crane said. “I’m sorry. Let’s go back to the beginning and make a fresh start, shall we?”

  Dr. Crane stepped behind Tara’s chair. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “Let’s just try and calm—”

  Tara jumped to her feet.

  “You are not to touch me, Doctor! Do you find it necessary to put your hands on your patients? Or just the young girls?”

  Adrian Crane held up his hands innocently.

  “I was merely trying to help you relax, Tara.”

  Crane dropped his hands and his smile disappeared.

  “You should know that you are in this office because the school system values my professional opinion. My report will more than likely determine whether you are allowed to return to school. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

  “Ha!” Tara scoffed. “Why should I care if I ever set foot inside that school again? My father will merely arrange to have us transferred elsewhere. That would happen soon enough, anyway.”

  An evil grin spread across Crane’s face.

  “My professional responsibility extends beyond the limits of this city. I have sworn an oath that will not permit me to ignore the fact that you may present a danger to any group of students—or an entire school faculty!”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Tara asked.

  “It means that little girls with poison tongues should realize whom they are dealing with. It may be someone with the power to ruin their lives forever.”

  “We’ll see how much power you have after I inform my mother and father about your professional methods.”

  Crane chuckled.

  “Do you think you’re the first child to speak to me that way?”

  Crane got to his feet again and opened a filing cabinet. He pulled a handful of files from it and dropped them onto his desk. He spread them out.

  “A total of sixteen children from your school. Nine young ladies.”

  Crane gathered the files and snatched them from the desk.

  “Fifteen of these currently reside in the same mental institution—just outside of the city. On my recommendation. One of the boys saw fit to end his life rather than deal with his…challenges.”

  “You can’t—,” Tara said, but her mind was reeling.

  “You can cooperate,” Crane said. “Or we shall consider our session complete. Do you understand?”

  Tara stared at the floor. She nodded.

  Crane replaced the files in the cabinet and sat behind his desk.

  “Good,” he said. He took a pen from his pocket and laid it on his desk.

  “We will begin with a simple demonstration. Make the pen move.”

  Tara lifted her head and looked at the pen. She narrowed her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered. She remained that way for several seconds, and then she opened her eyes. The pen had not moved.

  “I can’t.”

  Adrian Crane was not amused.

  “Do you think I am someone to be toyed with, Miss Jamison? Try my patience once more and you can resign yourself to a future within a windowless padded cell. I told you—”

  Tara stood and grabbed the doctor’s wrist with her left hand. Crane tried to pull himself free but he could not break Tara’s grip.

  “Stop! Stop it this instant! What are you doing?”

  Crane tried to use his left hand to free his captive right. Tara slapped his hand away. There was an audible crack and Crane cried out in pain.

  “Spread your fingers,” Tara growled quietly.

  “Stop it!” Crane said again. “I’m warning you—”

  Tara squeezed the doctor’s wrist. His entire body began to shake.

  “I said…spread your fingers!”

  Crane spread apart the fingers of his captive hand.

  The pen rose from the table and positioned itself vertically over Crane’s hand. It came down and touched its point lightly against the desk just outside of Crane’s thumb. It rose again and touched down between his thumb and forefinger. It repeated this between the rest of Crane’s fingers. The doctor was afraid to move at all.

  Tara’s arm began to shake. Soon, her whole body trembled and her eyes rolled up in their sockets. Tiny bolts of electricity shot out of Tara’s fingers. The pen began to glow with a blue light. The pen repeated its motions, but faster and faster—until the pen was nothing but a blur. Adrian Crane sobbed.

  “Please. Please stop!”

  The pen stopped in mid-air. Tara stopped trembling.

  The pen tilted until it was horizontal. It flew past Crane’s head—barely missing his right eye. Crane flinched and saw his pen impaled in the plaster wall behind him.

  Tara released Crane’s hand. He fell into his chair and propelled himself backward. He crashed into the wall.

  “You will pay for that!” Crane hissed.

  “Will I?”

  Crane kept his eyes on Tara as he leaped for the telephone on his desk. He froze when he heard a sickening crunch. The
telephone and its intercom console were breaking into pieces. It was imploding.

  Crane froze momentarily, and then he ran toward the door. Halfway there, he found himself running in place. His feet were no longer touching the floor. He swore at Tara until he was thrown against the opposite wall—face first. He struggled to turn his head but his face was pinned against the wall.

  “Get your hands off of me, you little—”

  Crane froze when he felt warm breath on his ear.

  “Who needs hands?” Tara whispered.

  Crane strained to look behind his back. Tara was now standing several feet away from him, but he was still pinned to the wall.

  Crane grimaced when he felt his left arm pulled up behind his back.

  “Let me go!” Crane screamed.

  Tara said nothing. Several seconds passed before Crane spoke again.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  “How many children did you send to the mental institution?” Tara asked.

  “Sixteen,” Crane said.

  “How many girls?”

  “Nine.”

  “And how many did you put your hands on?”

  “I didn’t—”

  Crane’s arm was pulled sharply upward. He screamed again.

  “All of them,” he said between clenched teeth. Tara released the pressure against Crane’s arm.

  “Listen to me,” Crane said, in obvious agony. His breathing was labored.

  “Let me go and you can walk out of here and never see me again. I’ll clear you to go back to school. You have my word.”

  Tara released more of the pressure against Crane’s arm. She released some of the force that pinned him against the wall.

  “I have your word, then?” Tara breathed into Crane’s ear.

  “The word of A LIAR!”

  Cranes arm wrenched brutally upward—far past what his body could endure. Ligaments and tendons in his shoulder and elbow stretched and snapped.

  Dr. Adrian Crane screamed until he passed out and crumbled to the floor.